I normally don't mince words when telling it how it is, and I reckon this posting will be no different. I think that panic has set in over the lack of 'time' that I have left before we all go back to school. If it is not self-induced panic, then I have no relevant reasons to explain my bitchiness. The weekend actually got off to a lovely start. We went over to a friends house to celebrate a birthday and had a very relaxing, fun-filled evening. Enjoying the late summer sun whilst sipping Sam Adams on the patio. Rumour has it we may have sipped a little too much Sam. I flopped into bed later that night thrilled that I had NO PLANS made for the early morning and could take a well deserved lie-in. (NOTE: I am a morning person, but like to linger a little longer in la-la land if the opportunity presents itself).
Saturday morning arrived just a little too soon (at 5:38am) with the Chef leaping like a lord out of bed and racing to the window saying 'I hear voices'. Kill me now God, because I am about to commit a murder. Those were the thoughts that went through my mind. Needless to say I could not go back to sleep because there was a party going on in the nearby countryside and by the time they all went to their beds it was well past breakfast time in the Wise Household.
I made a conscious effort to steer clear of the Chef for the best part of the day, until we dropped of the kids to another birthday party and we had three hours to ourselves. I made it clear that Sunday morning would be different. Let there be no mistake. Sunday morning rolled in a little later and although he still WOKE ME rather early, he did slink of sulkily downstairs with Jack to make coffee and feed the fowl. I took the chance to get caught up fucking around on facebook checking my overflowing inbox of mostly spam very important emails and just as I decided to organise some summer photos for an upcoming blog I was working on, the children came racing up the stairs announcing that we were headed to the beach for the day. Him BEING A MAN would never have had the forethought to perhaps DISCUSS this with me in advance because he probably thinks that all bathing suits and towels are left loftily in the right place just waiting for the perfect 'SwimDay' to pop up. I take that back - HE DID NOT THINK AT ALL!
Ripped from my 'nice lazy Sunday' I had to dress and pack all four crumbcatchers and orchestrate the tending to the fowls dietary needs (and water because it was a hot one!) AND organise a packed lunch IN A HURRY BECAUSE WE HAD TO GET ON THE ROAD IN ORDER TO BEAT THE TRAFFIC.
We had a great day at the beach. We drove out to Ballyconeely in Conamara. Lovely private white sandy beaches. No traffic, no trash. Just bliss. As we drove home and I had decided to speak to my husband again (the man that is constantly wanting to do stuff to enrich ALL of our lives but mostly the experiences he can give the children building a plethora of amazing childhood memories for them) the talk turned to dinner. He had brought home a hefty piece of beautiful Pork Chop on the bone. Although it would take a while to cook, he had plans to make a tasty treat for the table - yet again.
We have not had to buy any vegetables since April so a quick spin around the garden gave us our veggies for the evening. In the back of my mind I starting to bitch worry about how it would all turn out, because the Chef is not a huge fan of the way Irish meat is butchered. In his opinion it is all done incorrectly. He feels that the meat is cut waaaaaay to thinly and by the time you are done cooking it is looks like it has been stomped on and all the lovely juices have been squeezed right out of it leaving you with a dried up piece of old shoe leather.
Case-in-point
Because of this, he is very fussy about 'where' he gets his meat from and 'who' has touched it. Obviously the lads at Morton's of Galway (where he works) have come to terms with his fussiness and now know how to win him over when flogging a piece of weekend roast.
I spent a few minutes unloading all the sand and seaside baggage from our family day of fun and had just enough time to crack open a lovely bottle of Mesta Rosado before he presented this lovely hunk of meat for our dining pleasure.
It was a lovely weekend. All sins are forgiven and we are all bracing ourselves for the back-to-school mayhem that lies ahead.
Those are all the WiseWords I have for this rainy August evening,
WiseMóna
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