This weekend I put on make up and actually went somewhere. Shocking, I know. It was a bridal shower for my friend Tracy. Twas meant to be an English tea party, hence the fascinating fascinators:

Aren’t those the girls from Ab Fab?

Amelia was especially fond of them (note: I am totally kidding; she was scared shitless. And really, wouldn’t you be if you saw a bunch of crazy ladies with all of that bizzare crap stuck to their heads? The kid’s got a point).

Even Alex got into the swing of things when he turned up later:

I mean, how can these two not be perfect for each other? It takes a real man to wear a fascinator.

In terms of how I’ve been coping, I guess I am coping okay. But that’s who I am; an okay coper. I am shredded, but am exceptionally good at pulling it together when I need to. Years of functioning within dysfunction will do that to a gal. Example: this weekend I went out, but left to have a break/cry mid-way through before I headed back. That’s usually what I do when I go out to things, or I go, but head home early. Or some days I don’t go at all. The people who I spend time with are used to me either bailing or tears spontaneously running down my cheeks and just accept this. It’s nice that I keep getting invited back to things, really. My family and friends kick ass.

Off to go get ready for some more visiting with the fam before they head back across the pond/giant ocean.



Yes, it’s true. I have a new love in my life. Meet my vacuum:

I realize I am cresting on a whole new level of lame, but it is what it is. I freaking love this thing. It’s like a toy, only better because you get results. The only downside is that I am a tad concerned that my enthusiasm is adversely affecting my mental health (i.e. vacuum is up and going at the sight of a single cat hair on the floor), but at least that beats being too depressed to clean at all…I think.

4 months today. Ugh. I’m making that sound a lot lately. Uuuuuuggghhhhh. Loud and guttural, from the pit of my belly and well up into my throat. When words fail me, when I see a picture and something twigs, when I have a thought and tell myself “I can’t wait to tell Joey that”. When I forget for a split second that he’s gone and that it will be a long-ass time before I get to see him again. Uuuuuuuggghhhhh. This sucks.

In un-sucky news, my Auntie Jean and Uncle Clive from Britain are over for a visit. Marm is excited:

There has finally been success in the eagle-spotting department, although that success is yet to be reflected on film. Still plenty of time though.

Ta-ta for now my pretties.

PR Great Strides Total

The Great Strides totals for Joey’s Angels are in! Drumroll please…

Looks like we raised $3255! This includes the $705 that team Brendan and Joey’s Angels were able to raise at Willingdon Beach on Great Strides day. Thank you again to everyone who participated, donated, or volunteered. You rock my socks.

In other news, I am getting sick of Joey being dead. Obvious, but true. I am as okay as I can be under the circumstances, but am still in flail mode. There is nothing I can do and nowhere I can go to make it okay. That said, I have not stopped trying. I am hatching plans fairly consistently, but flip flop consistently too. I think my latest is a winner, but I have thought that with other plans before and have ended up wiffle waffing, so I’m going to keep it under my hat for now.

In the meantime, I have been out and about…a lot. Or what feels like a lot, for me anyway. Finally met baby Bria, said bon voyage to Brandy and Bruce, had a lightening visit with the Mayrhofer/Morrissey clan, celebrated Angel’s birthday with a delicious meal (or at least mine was delicious – food always tastes better when you actually receive it), whooped it up for Tracy’s hen night, and “helped” Rebecca run 55km (if you can call meeting her at various check points, drinking coffee, and eating the food she left in my trunk “helping”). All in all it’s been a busy few weeks; I am burnt. (As in burnt out, not sun scorched. I’m more of a stare out the window than actually venture outside kind of gal, as evidenced by my pasty-white skin).

And on that note, I think I’ll go to the beach.