Lots of “s” words

Yesterday was quite something … lots of “s” words were used. Some of which I will outline in this blog, some of which I will leave to your imagination.

Let’s start with the email I sent to a nice lass called Summer. Summer is the strata manager of an apartment I am desperate to buy. Except the apartment block doesn’t allow pets. Even fish require permission slips.

Damn, damn, damn!

So I’ve sent an electronic “pretty please”. But I am expecting no joy.

There was little joy in the activity that followed emailing Summer: I trekked to the annual Aldi ski sale. The annual Aldi ski sale is very, very popular in my neck of the woods. Much strategising took place in the playground in the week leading up to it – the merits of various Aldi outlets were discussed, the opinions of sales staff were canvassed and shared, veterans of previous ski sales offered tactical advice.

One of the school dads and I settled on our Aldi of choice and planned an 8am arrival for an 8.30am opening.

The queue was already about 50 deep when we arrived. Within 10 minutes it snaked through the shopping centre. The eldest was charged with wheeling/guarding the trolley, while I bolted through the aisles to ski nirvana in the centre of the store.

People were RUNNING. They were grabbing. They were pushing. It was such a RUSH.

Husband and the kids are off on a ski adventure in a few months so I was keen to kit them out. Before  you say what the freaking hell are you doing that for … let me explain.

If I didn’t go the bargain route, Husband would leave it all until the last minute and pay some eye boggling price for their gear. I figured that while we still have joint funds they should be used wisely.

Thirty minutes and $530 later I’d scored merino wool thermals, a ski suit, ski goggles, ski socks and ski gloves for Husband; thermals, snow boots, gloves, ski socks and goggles for the eldest; and thermals, snow boots, gloves, ski socks and goggles for the youngest.

Freaking hell, skiing isn’t a cheap pursuit. They haven’t even paid for their accommodation, lift tickets, food or ski hire yet. Yeouch!

I sent Husband a pic of my haul and he replied with a cheery: “Woo hoo. We are goin’ skiing.”

That would be “we” without me as I am no longer invited.

Anyways …

On to the next “s” word. After the annual Aldi ski sale we headed to North Ryde for the NSW/ACT Skipping Championships. Bet you didn’t know THOSE existed, huh?

The eight-year-old is a mad skipper and was competing in the pairs, individual and speed events.

The eldest droobed along because there was nowhere else for her to go. Unfortunately she was sick … another “s” word for you … so she slumped on a bleacher looking flushed and miserable for the next four hours.

I finally pulled out of my date-entry volunteering shift at 2pm and took the poor pet home … via the local bakery for some fresh sourdough (“s”!) to have with her roast tomato soup (“s”!) for dinner.

I parked her on the sofa (“s”!) and took the mutt for a quick walk and saw a little bowl that made me smile …

Thanks for the free lime, dear neighbour.

As for the results of the skipping comp … I know you’re on the edge of your seat … I’m a little sad I wasn’t there to cheer and stamp my feet.

While the individual results are still pending, my Pook scooped the (small) pool in the pairs events. Three golds, including overall pairs champions in the under 8s division and a silver.

How cool is that? She’s having bulk fun clinking around the house with them around her neck.

Song of the day: Malcolm Mclaren “Double dutch”