Baby it’s you

My Pookalooka turns 12 today. Happy birthday little (big) one … she’s taller than me already and still shooting up.

Last night we had our traditional family gathering at the dodgy local teppanyaki. Having food flung at you never gets old.

The youngest was very disappointed not to have Nonna and Pop along for the celebration, but fortunately my dad is recovering well after the operation on his spine and is hoping to head home tomorrow.

If this week hadn’t included turning 50 and spending 500 hours decorating and undecorating a bowling club, I might have been a bit more organised for my child’s celebrations.

Her birthday cake last night, for example, was snatched from the fridge at Woolies on our way to dinner … marked down to $3.50. Last of the big spenders!

As for the gift … well that will have to wait. The youngest wanted a bedroom makeover. I’ve got all the bits and bobs hidden behind my bedroom curtains, under my bed and in my wardrobe, but I haven’t quite had a chance to Allen key them all together.

Tonight, the kids’ dad will join us for pizza and cake at my place. I offered them pizza and cake in an actual restaurant, but they were very no thanks about it. I suppose home is more relaxed and has free wi-fi.

So I’ll grab the youngest from skipping training, swing by our local pizza joint for far too much pizza – the kids are obsessed with having pork toppings, their dad is obsessed with NOT having pork toppings … I guess that means I’ll be sharing something boring and vegetarian with him.

And at some point I’ll shake out the shaggy rugs and assemble the hat stand and shoe rack and complete the kiddo’s haven. I managed to get the doona cover into the washing machine and dryer before I collapsed exhausted in bed last night after an 11-hour day at work.

I’m also itching to make over the eldest’s room, who has finally decided a desk is in order at age 14. We’re going to do some major chucking over Easter, then I’ll be in a prime position to use my major birthday present from my local friends, who pooled their dosh to get me a house cleaning voucher.

That probably sounds a bit rude … but they weren’t suggesting my house was dirty. (They wouldn’t know as I never let them in, because … it’s so dirty.)

But they’ve heard me wax lyrical about how lovely it would be to get my place scrubbed within an inch of its life. Bless them, such a thoughtful gesture.

I’m thinking I might try and rearrange my finances afterwards to see if I can afford a fortnightly cleaner. I’ve decided the bliss I would get from walking into a clean house that hasn’t required an ounce of effort from me might be worth the outlay. It could also help with the youngest’s allergies.

Poor thing is such an itchy mess, but such a positive, cheery one.

I adore my sweet sprite and feel so lucky that she still wants a big cuddle before bed every night.

The youngest makes a snowball on Christmas Day in New York at the tender age of 2.

Naaawwww … I can’t believe how much she’s grown.

Song of the day: Promises “Baby it’s you”

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