After spending a considerable portion of last night and this morning deciding what we were actually going to do for our stock, standard Sunday, i.e. Family Day, and doing much “I dunno, what do you want to do?” “I dunno, you decide” my head was awhirl with writey kind of ideas, so I decided that I would just lock myself in my office for two hours and write.
Grumpy took the Middlest and Littlest Children to the local school to play basketball.
Monkey Boy sat at home and practiced being a surly teenager. Judging by this morning’s antics, he is going to perform that stage of his life well. Text Book I would even go so far as to say.
(Only, not the Text Book they give you where Teenager does this and you say that and everyone hugs and the family is happy again … no, not that one.)
After I’d completed my tasks and evicted the Writing Bug from my head, Monkey Boy and I wandered to the school to collect children and husband. I got stuck, then, shooting some hoops (see, I am cool!) and missing a vast majority of them, whilst Grumpy Pants pointed and jeered at me until I said “Shut up, you fat bastard!” and he pointed harder and jeered more loudly and … jeerily.
Then I remembered why we had to collect them. We had a date with children’s author, Andy Griffiths, at our local next-door-to-the-library and which I had had the rather unusual foresight to actually book when I first heard about it.
So I gathered the fam’, head home, stuffed food in faces and chose to walk to the venue, whilst Grumpy Pants opted for driving. We arrived at much the same time, our tickets collected and we were invited to take our seats.
Mostly from me, as I love to listen to authors. I felt like a ten year old boy at a … at a … well, at an Andy Griffiths Author Talk/Book Tour.
He was most entertaining and, sadly, gave me many, many more ideas, of which I had to jot down immediately upon my return home.
We also had a very good laugh, bought some more books and the two biggest kids had theirs signed by Andy, himself.
The Littlest One, who has no appreciation at all for talented authors, nor for sitting still for more than .23 seconds (what is wrong with him????!!!) instead lolled about on Grumpy’s lap, made squeaky noises with his mouth, collapsed to the floor, rifled through my bag for food, came up seriously disappointed, so spilt my bottle of cold water into my crotch instead.
He then barged through several lines of people wanting to purchase books, forcing me to grab his arm and drag him off to the side, thus losing my place in line, and being forced to walk the long way around, through more crowds and chairs, in order to find myself at the end of the book signing line.
From this position, I glared so forcibly that Grumpy had no choice but to pay me attention, where, with much pointed eye movement and head jerking, I indicated that he come and collect Chippie before I lose the plot. He did.
For a few moments, at least, when Chippie makes his way to me, via the middle of another group of people. He wasn’t actually headed for me, and I think he was taken quite by surprise when I gripped his arm tightly, and did some more eye-glaring, eye-brow raising and Come And Get The Little Fucker Now Head Movements.
Grumpy took him to the toilet.
Monkey Boy, Godzilla and I stood in line a bit more. Then we got to see the man himself and I was giggly and speechless and didn’t want to look like a knob, so I just took photos.
Home via a local cafe, outside Coles, where we remembered some essentials like bread and ham were needed and were thankful we had the car nearby.
I was still in need of a walk. so chose that route. Monkey Boy decided to join me, and was forced to wait as Grumpy and I had a heated debate about who was going to take Chippie. Or, rather, who wasn’t.
I won … or lost … depending on how you look at it. Meanwhile, he’d stripped off his jacket, which had, until mere moments earlier, had been the wings of an aeroplane which he decided he no longer wanted to be, and we head out into the chilly afternoon for our walk home.
After a meal of homemade pizza, I was met with yet another conflict. You see, only a few weeks ago I had the pleasure of attending a workshop at school with children’s author, Adam Wallace, who is equally (if not more so) brilliant, only slightly less well know.
I just couldn’t decide who to take to bed.
I also wondered whether I might not be better off reading something more age appropriate …