Mystic Pizza

There's nothing bloody mystic about it. Pizza, the takeaway variety, is what happens when you haven't had more than a couple of hours at home at a stretch for over a week.

I haven't even had time to take and upload photos. Remind me why I needed a camera?

1. Thursday last week Holden won his school cross country.
2. Friday last week I worked in the city for a client, then had to dash early to take Phoebe to hospital. We got home shortly after 11pm. We're still not sure what the problem is.
3. Saturday Holden's team won their baseball grand final. Then the children dispersed and we drove to Bundanoon for a friend's birthday (yes, I did the food for it too - don't you make pate at 7am on a Saturday?).
4. Sunday we drove back from Bundanoon in time for another friend's birthday.
5. Monday. Let me see, it's all blurring now. I think I went into the city. Oh, and then we had Andrew's father's retirement dinner (yes, dinner out on a Monday night, guaranteed to stuff up your week).
6. Tuesday. I'm pretty sure I went into the city again. Yes, and then had Holden's parent-teacher conference. And then took Phoebe to Kumon.
7. Wednesday. Phoebe in for dental surgery. This was, tragically, the highlight of the week. The procedure was successful, and watching her lurch around like a drunk zombie afterwards was excruciatingly funny. Don't worry, I did dote on her, I just laughed at the same time.
8. Today. Is today Thursday? I went into the city again. I got home at 6.40pm, to a filthy house and a child missing in transit from soccer. He got home at 7.30pm after his coach took him on a tour of the Inner West.

And I ordered pizza. Now I'm just waiting for Andrew to ring me and say 'can you pick me up from uni?'. Who could blame me if I sighed deeply?

More of the same ahead ...