I’m sick.

Four days out from a major family holiday and I have a cold.  Coupled with the car breaking down on Monday and the toilet leaking mysterious-looking brown fluid (it’s not poo…we checked), we have officially reached the third thing in the ‘bad things happen in threes’ rule so Universe, you can kindly send me a break or two now.  We’ve had enough.

I’m sitting here dosed up on over-the-counter flu medication in a desperate attempt to be well in time for flying out on Monday.  You know, so I can better feel the impending doom of takeoff.

I’m not a great flyer.  I think it’s because I haven’t had much opportunity to fly over the course of my life and the last time became violently ill with gastro while in the air.  That was an experience I’d rather not repeat.  That was a few years back and I haven’t flown since.  But the kids haven’t flown at all, and they’re both excited and anxious.  Since I don’t want to have my neuroses rub off on them, I’m trying hard to downplay my nerves.  I made the mistake of telling the kids how much I detest tuna once, and it stopped them eating it for six years.  No need to make my issue with flying their issue too, hence the zipped lip.

Even though I’m intermittently fuzzy (thank you Codral) and wanting to sandpaper my clogged up face off, today has been all about the washing and prepping for our trip.  The unseasonal warm spell in Adelaide this week has meant more clothes hung outside on the line, something I’ll admit I’m not very good at.  The dryer is just so easy.  So I use it far too much.  Our last electricity bill reflected this obsession though, so back to the outside clothesline we go.  It was fun today trying to hang up the washing when my arms felt like bricks.  Everything pretty much hurts.  Being sick sucks.

After Monday’s drama with the car, I still haven’t managed to get out to buy that swimsuit, and we’re now down to the wire.  Stress-head me is, well, stressing that we’re not going to get everything done around the house in time, either.  That probably doesn’t help with the ‘rest and get well’ thing I’m trying to channel today.  Why didn’t I look for a suit in summer?! I’m an idiot.

Okay, back to the grind – it totally doesn’t count as procrastination on Pinterest if what I’m looking up is freakishly efficient packing tips, right? (*blows nose*)

It is only with the benefit of hindsight and the addition of twenty-four hours that I’m able to recount the following story without breaking out in stress hives…

Yesterday I decided to buy a swimsuit.

Sure, it’s (more or less) winter, and yes, leaving this task until a family holiday at the beach is imminent wasn’t the smartest move.  Youngest needed new bathers too, and for the past two weeks I pulled my hair out finding a viable option for her (naturally, being off-season, there’s nothing on the department store racks) until I finally gave up and purchased – from a choice of just two – a $70 Speedo suit from the swimming centre’s retail shop.  That was fun.  So I wasn’t anticipating an easy time finding a suit for me, especially considering I’m more than a little squidgey and I have ample cleavage.  When one has both of those, one shops at Big Booby Bathers stores, so when I got a hot tip from a friend of mine who shares my affliction, I thought, right, I’m on my way.

Driving along in the rain, not far from my destination, the car’s speedo, temperature, revs and petrol gauges all suddenly drop to zero.  Hmmm, that’s odd.  I don’t appear to be stationary.  I pulled off into a side street and parked, slightly panicked.  I haven’t been driving all that long – about 18 months – so I called Hubs.

“Try turning it on again.”  Nothing.  Oh fruit tingles.  “Best call the RAA – your membership is still valid right?”

Erm….whoops.

After grudgingly paying the renewal fee over the phone, and an additional $150 (!) because I needed their help right away, I kicked back to wait for the RAA van to arrive.  Could be up to an hour, they said.

Almost immediately, I realised several things, possibly all related – first, that I was ravenous.  I hadn’t had breakfast before the school run so I’d intended just getting a coffee when I got to the shops.  Second, I had a headache brewing – you know the ones that start pin-prick small behind your eyeballs with the potential to become cataclysmic?  Third, I had no medication in my bag.  And fourth, I needed to pee like a groom on a buck’s night.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

The RAA lad arrived about 45 minutes into the longest wait of my life (do they start training at 12 these days? I swear my voice was deeper than his), tweaked this and that under the hood, and pronounced it to be a problem with the alternator and the car would need to be towed.  Awesome news.

A few more phone calls, husband is notified, and a tow is on it’s way.  Could be up to an hour, they said (sound familiar?)

I started to contemplate this scene from Dumb & Dumber very seriously.

The tow truck eventually turned up and a gentleman exited the vehicle with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a scowl on his face.  I apologised profusely for making him hook the tow line up in the rain.  He turned out to be a lovely fellow and on the ride to the service centre we exchanged pleasantries.  I learned that he works for peanuts but needs to be on call 24 hours a day for four days on, three days off every week.  He learned that this was the last thing we needed with the holiday coming up.  It was all rather civilized.  I didn’t get his name, but I know his aunt, sister, and their dog live in my suburb, which makes us practically related, according to him.  He was a good guy though, and after he unhooked the car at the service place he wished us fun on our trip and said he hoped he never saw me again.  Mutual, my friend, mutual.

I won’t detail the conversation that was had at the service centre, but suffice it to say it included a lot of pointing at computer screens that were dotted liberally with dollar signs.  I collected my valuables from the car and began walking to a shopping centre I knew was nearby.

I lasted ten minutes.  The rain had stopped, thankfully, but in addition to my handbag and umbrella, on a whim that morning I’d also thrown in my camera bag with my DSLR and – in a comedy of errors -  SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLARS WORTH of silver coins to deposit at the bank (in a plastic shopping bag, because I am very classy like that).

Do you know how heavy seventy five bucks worth of coins is? Answer: Lots.  I called a taxi.  At least I had plenty of change to pay him with.

Shopping centre! Peeing! Food! HOORAY!

Not so hooray? Having to catch public transport home.  Eighteen months without having to step foot on a bus and I picked the worst possible bus to get on.  I couldn’t work out how to work the new ticketing machine and I heard people laughing at my ineptitude from the Cool Back Seat.  And my own seat was wet.  I’d just been to the loo so I know it wasn’t me.  The less I worry about what it was the less I feel like washing my butt with Domestos, so we’re just going to never mention it again, okay? Sweet.

While all this was going on, Hubs was madly trying to organise to get the last couple of hours of his work day off so that he could do the school run in our other car, which he did, while I stayed home and sobbed into a cup of tea.  I can’t remember the last time a whole day of doing not very much of anything important had left me so damn exhausted.

So, the damage?  I survived, but our wallet might not.  The car throwing a snit fit right before an 18-months-in-the-planning family holiday couldn’t have been worse timing – we’ll be about $1,000 out of pocket, probably more.  But you know, it could have been worse.  I was just talking to my girlfriends about it this morning, as we commiserated over unexpected car expenses.  I wasn’t on the nearby busy expressway, I had time to pull over safely,  I was warm and dry in my car while I waited, and I had (eventual) access to a toilet.  All very good reasons to look on the bright side.

But I still don’t have a bloody swimsuit!

Let my tale of woe be your fateful reminder – are you up to date with your roadside assistance membership?

It’s 2:30 am, and I can’t sleep.  Apparently in my excitement to get Chromama back on track I neglected to schedule beyond the first post.  This was not very clever.

Yesterday morning, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time – I went for a drive.  I didn’t have any particular place to go, I just threw the camera in the backseat, dropped the kids off at school, and went.  As it turns out, my lack of planning became my downfall – I couldn’t find any good spots to park and take pictures.  So I’m cheating.  This is a photo I took a couple years ago, 3 hours drive from home.  And in Spring.  The grape vines in my area don’t look like this at the moment.  Autumn colours are everywhere, so there are a lot of browns and reds and oranges.  Just nowhere near me.

The morning wasn’t a total bust.  I ran into a good friend at a local eatery and I ate breakfast with her and her two daughters – an unexpected pleasure.  I’d taken my blog planner and notebook intending to write while sipping a latte – possibly more than one – all fancy-like.  The notebooks sat untouched in the end.  So, no writing done and no photos taken.  But who cares?

I’ve always been a solitary person, and while I adore spending time with my friends, I need to spend time alone too.  Sometimes I’m truly alone, like yesterday – taking unexplored roads – and sometimes I’m just alone in my head, people-watching at a food court, or enjoying a movie at the cinema (one of my favourite things to do in the world).  It’s a bit like the whiteboard on my fridge.  It’s my holdall for information – to dos, grocery lists, reminders, appointments.  If it’s on the board, I’m forced to deal with it every day.  This is a good thing for organization, but sometimes bad for peaceful living.  Typically, I keep adding and adding to the board in smaller and smaller scribbles until I can hardly see any white space.  Then in a fit of “auuughh!” I attack the items one by one – transferring my shopping list to my phone, making calls, dealing with minutiae.  The physical act of erasing each item brings me peace.  When the final “Don’t Forget!” is gone from the board and I’m left with completely white space, it fills me with glee.  Geeky, but true.

Yesterday was my way of erasing the ‘stuff’ from the whiteboard in my brain.  I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like, but when I do, it’s sublime.  I feel so much more focused.  Reset and reboot.  Ready to kick some butt another day.

What about you? Do you take regular ‘time out for Mum’? What’s your ‘whiteboard moment’?

Wow.  I can hardly believe I’m stepping up to the keyboard again.

Welcome back to Chromama!

Coming back to this space is a bit like settling into a favourite comfy armchair – the soft fabric, the lap quilt hanging over the back, even the arse-print on the seat cushion.  Everything feels familiar and homey.  Except that in the case of Chromama, the armchair gets to live in a brand new house!

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the exceedingly awesome, long-suffering Melissa at Suger Coat It, who managed to take my long list of demands and somehow craft them into a gorgeous new custom blog design.  Chromama is taking a brand new direction, and there’s no way I could have done all the behind-the-scenes tinkering myself.  Also up on the pedestal with Melissa is my good (real life) friend Danielle, who did the amazing illustrations and who endured several fervent text messages asking to change this colour or that squiggle to satisfy my (very much non-artistic) vision.  To the two of you, thankyou.  It makes me smile to come here and see everything looking so pretty.

So, a new direction, huh? What can you expect from here on out?

You’ll find more posts on areas that speak to me – simpler, calmer homemaking, adventures in the sewing room, meals and edible goodies (with a new health twist), taking 5 for Mum, the joys and frustrations of parenthood and, if you’re in the mood for randomness, you can always try your hand at the lucky dip, which is basically where every random thought that pops into my head resides.

It all sounds very quaint and domestic, right? Like I’m trying to create a Betty Homemaker persona that no ordinary person can keep up with?  Hardly.  I’m not adverse to a little blue language.  And I’m all for taking shortcuts.  I fall on my arse all the time.  So if you’re hoping for some form of perfection, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place.  I say arse a lot (I may even say worse from time to time, but I’ll try to keep that to a minimum, I promise).  I don’t mind calling it like it is.  And that includes laying my own head on the chopping block.

Over the next couple of weeks, as I resettle myself, I’d love to hear from you – what would you like to see covered on the new Chromama?