#1397 The hair can wait, but the help can’t

Today I attended a Parent Helpers Morning Tea at baby girl’s school.

I wrote some time ago that I got the invite to the tea and happily accepted. To be honest, I was feeling a bit shit this morning and actually contemplated pulling out.

On top of my hesitation, I had called my hairdresser this morning to cancel my upcoming appointment with them, since it clashed with me helping out baby girl at swimming.

Why was I going?

I was busy already.

What was the point?

What made me say yes in the first place?

I had these questions circling through my mind, but at the same time the thought of not going didn’t sit right with me either.

So I went… and oh man am I glad I did.

Firstly, I had a really great time. I caught up with other parents and baby girl’s teacher, and it was lovely to be in a slightly different social setting without our kids screaming “Mum look at me!” from the playground at pick-up.

Oh, my THE SPREAD. It was this insanely long table with all kinds of sandwiches, rolls and wraps, fruit and snacks and chocolate and cake and sweets and crackers and everything in between… it was amazing. The coffee and tea window was set up and moving quickly despite the long line, and all in all it was a really well organised morning tea.

But then the principal spoke, and thanked us… she pointed out and spoke about an elderly gentleman, telling us that despite his flailing health, he had been volunteering and helping kids at the school with their reading for 11 years now. I looked at the sombre-looking frail man hanging his head, wishing he would hold it up high. Tears gathered in my eyes and I willed myself to not be a sook by taking a big sip of my tea.

What a man.

Then there were two students who had made up poems for all the helpers. They read them out, and though they were simple, they were so, so sweet, and totally pulled at my heart-strings. I was standing there thinking “damn it, I’m not supposed to cry.”

And then I realised. I realised that all of us in there, all of the helpers really did deserve this special morning. We deserved the thanks. I was reminded of how only that morning I had cancelled my hair appointment as I had forgotten over a month ago when I booked it, that it clashed with the last swimming session baby girl had through the school.

Baby girl wanted me there at swimming, and I couldn’t let her down. I cancelled my pre-Christmas hair appointment instead.

But secretly, someone was looking out for me. Because when I called to cancel, the hairdresser was able to fit me in next week with her… at a better and more convenient time than the original one would have been anyway.

So, winning.

I made the morning tea. I gratefully accepted the thanks amongst so many more.

I cancelled the hair appointment and made that tiny sacrifice for baby girl…

And I was thanked.

These sacrifices we make, big or small, are all eventually noticed… if not by friends, family or your child’s school… then by the Universe. β™₯

#1387 My new mug

We all need nice mugs in our life.

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And that’s what I got yesterday for my KK. A very nice mug.

Of course I had to use it today. It’s made me realise, that we have a load of mugs in our kitchen cupboard, most that we’ve had for about a decade… sooo long.

Drinking coffee, tea, from the same mugs… day in… and day out.

A bit different from the Kondo method – I don’t quite want to ‘just’ get rid of them. Yes I want to move them on, donate them to a worthy cause…

But I don’t ‘just’ want the spot where they used to reside, to lay bare.

I want it replaced… with new mugs. 😁

Sometimes you just need a change. And often that change starts with the smallest thing.

Like, one new mug. ❀🍡

#1284 Lucky 7

As I drove into work on the dreaded Monash this morning, the car slowed, painfully so… for the longest time.

There was an accident. I shook my head. I was going to be late.

As I walked into work the drizzle intensified, cascading down over my face. I couldn’t help my amused smile. Thanks for the lovely send off Docklands.

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And then as I started up my computer, two programs weren’t working… I had to call IT.

Face palm.

All on my very last day of work.

It was finally HERE.

It was the weirdest sensation. I felt anxious and intensely nervous through most of the day. Things were emphasised to me at every turn… when I went up a lift “this will be my last time travelling to level 3.” When I scraped my bowl of its weetbix residue… “this will be my last dish from this kitchen.”

When I locked my locker for the last time.

When I logged off my computer for the last time.

Even going upstairs for a break with my colleagues got me over-sentimental. I in fact stopped going up for tea years ago, back when I started my morning coffee walks instead, and then there was the whole writing-at-the-desk-during-any-break thing…

I had to force myself to breathe. Pause. Reflect.

Many things made me feel better.

Firstly, this was not I, and I alone leaving. It was all of us. Our entire department and so many more. I was the second last of our team to leave, and so many had already walked my steps, felt my dis-ease, the discomfort and the bittersweet emotions at leaving.

It had happened to ALL my colleagues. My friends.

Secondly.… well change. It is inevitable. If this hadn’t happened now, we would have all been content in just going through the motions, the routine of work that we know like the back of our hand, becoming complacent in our roles and not expanding our mind and life journey with new learnings, adventures and places to see, people to meet.

There is so much to see. So many people to meet.

Memories flooded back to me as I looked around. The people I had seen come, and go. The places where secrets were shared. The darting looks and cheeky glances. The meltdowns. The showdowns. The ups, and downs.

Almost 12 years of my life.

I got my last coffee with a colleague… and today it was necessary to get dessert. Sure I had leftover cake from the weekend at home…

But it was my LAST DAY EVER. Screw that.

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It was sublime.

As I sent off a billion emails to my personal email, going through folders and deleting files here, there and everywhere, the feeling of anxiety grew.

I was deleting, and removing any remnants of me, from my locker… my desk… my entire email account. 1000s upon 1000s made their way into the graphic rubbish can on screen.

And my anxiety grew.

I was forgetting something. I met with HR. Got my papers. Went through more emails. Checked my lists… again. Went through my empty locker… again.

I had done everything I had to… and yet there was the strongest urge that I had forgotten something.

And just like that, at the acknowledgment of my lost feeling, I realised.

I felt like I was forgetting something, because a piece of me was going to remain there, even after I walked out the doors.

You can’t just flick a switch. Walk out without turning back. Expect to not have a memory lingering. Some laughter floating through the halls.

You can’t do it. Not after so long. Not after having created some of the best memories with the best people you could ask for.

You couldn’t, just, forget.

With that in mind, knowing I was going to have to leave a piece of me behind…. I walked out.

And instead of the grey morning and drizzle I had walking in with, now there was sunshine.

There was a new adventure waiting for me.

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And it’s a bit hard for me to believe now, so early… but I think it will be even better than this one.

And that’s because of my lucky number. Numbers. Because I have lots. And it’s not just 7.

πŸ˜‰

 

 

 

#1272 A Wintry and literary time out

You can understand the great ahh moment that came for me during the below photo I captured this afternoon, not just because, hey everyone loves a break, but the fact that…

In the morning the wind broke my Mary Poppins umbrella that I’ve had for over 10 years!

I got rained on MANY times

towels were shoved around various windows in the house due to the insane weather and water seeping in through the ferociousness of it all

it had rained both at school drop-off AND pick-up (of course, the Murphy’s Law school fairies strike again)

and I had this intermittent headache that was just dragging me down, symptomatic of my flu NOT wanting to let up.

Sigh.

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Which is why I sat on baby girl’s bean bag with my herbal tea this afternoon, looked at all my very inviting books all set up lovingly on my new/old bookcase, just whispering “read me, read me,” and decided to just peruse through, a few…

And what a wonderful way to chill out on a cold Friday afternoon… whether or not I got soaked that morning, it was still very much appreciated. β™₯ ( I did).

#1260 Sipak tea

I had a lovely moment tonight while sipping some herbal tea…

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Sipak tea, that is.

“What the hell is sipak?” you may ask.

Well firstly, it’s pronounced with a ‘sh,’ so” shi-pak” instead of “si-pak.”

And the ‘pak’ is not at all like “pack,” instead like “puck.”

So it is shi-puck.

It’s a rosehip tea. As much as I rely on coffee daily and enjoy it to no end, I am also a firm tea lover. They both have their place, rightly so. I love having a million and one teas in my pantry, regardless of whether I drink them daily, weekly, monthly, or even, yearly.

So when I finished my old sipak tea packet several months ago, I realised with dismay that the local supermarkets just couldn’t cut it.

They had all these non-European brands of ‘rosehip’ tea (eye roll)… and I just wanted to go back to my roots.

My Croatian roots. I wanted to get the bloody Croatian tea with the Cro writing and branding and only drink that one damn it.

SIPAK TEA.

I asked my Mum not long ago to get me some from her local supermarket, as they have a wide and varied selection of European specialty foods…

Today when we visited my parents, 3 packets were waiting for me. 3!

I took out my mug tonight and made myself a cuppa. It’s still rosehip but with added hibiscus flower. I tell you, I never noticed the hibiscus before, either it is new or it was never made prominent on the old packets, but it still tasted the SAME.

And it was only while sipping it that I realised the mug, cherished as it was, had come from my Mum, too.

My Mum giving me a great Mum mug. And now, traditional caj.

Talk about full circle… or should I say, puni krug. πŸ˜‰

β™₯β™₯β™₯β™₯

#1226 An easy Monday

Ahh. A taste of things to come.

We are so close to the end of term 2. So close to school holidays. And we definitely felt that today.

Baby girl had her once-a-term curriculum day today, and it was so well-timed, what with it being like, 4 degrees this morning… brrr.

We slept in through the morning frost before lounging about on the couch after brekkie…

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And then later while driving around, visited her old kindergarten and old teachers (she loves that place) and checked in to the good ‘ol adjoining park with its great grand trees.

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Sure, it was a chilly day. But that sun was shining a blinding white light, and it made our day off, that much sweeter. β™₯

#1131 Fresh, toasted bread

The online Collins dictionary defines “queue-jumping” as:

‘the act of obtaining prior consideration or some other advantage out of turn or unfairly.’

Today my loaf of bread jumped the queue so fantastically, that my mouth watered, my heart sung, and really, there was nothing unfair about the whole thing. In fact it was very, very FAIR.

You might think I am totally boring to be writing about bread, or toast, right?

But if you haven’t had my toast, I’m sorry, but YOU JUST DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

Oh-Em-Geeeeeee today peeps.

O-M-Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

You know what my favourite thing to hear when I am buying a new loaf of bread is?

“I’m just gonna put it in this paper bag instead, because it’s still warm.”

Still warm? DROOOOOOOOOL.

I hadn’t had brekkie this morning before school drop off, so as I quickly ran to the shops to grab some groceries before heading back home, with the above-mentioned bread, warm… I placed my fingertips together Montgomery Burns style.

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Excellent.

Sure, I had to have breakfast. And sure, I still had about 3 slices of bread left in the old loaf…

But it was OLD. And now I had freshly cut, WARM bread just waiting for me. Singing out to me.

“SmikG, SmikG…. eat me.”

🍞

I swear.

So I took the old loaf. Put it in the fridge and vowed I would toast and eat it another day.

And I took out these delicious slices of heaven, popped them in the toaster, spread soft and feathery butter ALL OVER, added my smidge amounts of vegemite (being careful not to overdose)… and then I BIT IN.

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πŸ˜πŸ˜‹πŸ˜πŸ˜‹

Did I say OMG already? OH-EM-GEEEEEEEEEEEE!

It was amazing. Crispy and soft, and honestly I don’t know why I even had to consider eating from the old loaf when I had this goodness waiting for me. Ahhh. It was the best bloody breakfast. Seriously.

That is seriously my gratitude post. SERIOUSLY. You know, even after I had my two pieces, I cheekily eyed that crust piece of bread I always avoid at the top/end of the loaf, because it’s, well, a crust…Β and I popped that super-thin slice in the toaster too, and DEMOLISHED IT.

I mean, it was so thin, it was at least half the size of a real slice… it was barely a toast. You could even say, I didn’t even eat it, that’s what you could say.

That’s what I will say.

But oh seriously. Gratitude done by 10:20am. And despite what the books say, jumping the queue seemed exceptionally fair… to my tummy. Happy me. 😁😜