Surprise!

When I say I love surprises, obviously I mean good surprises.

Not like the surprise we received last night ("Mummy!! Daddy!! Waaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!! I've been sick!!") when Phoebalicious vomited in her bed around 11:45pm. Or the surprise we got when she was sick again in her makeshift bed on our floor half an hour later...and then half an hour after that.

Or like the surprise object I pulled out of Maisie's pursed little mouth this morning. There's nothing like a smug one year old's face when they have something in their mouth, and they know it's naughty. And what did I extract? A ball of cat hair. (Previously, I have taken dog food, a piece of Barbie's dream house, half a beetle and something unidentifiable out of the Mouse's mouth. She is a regular hoover)

Or the surprise that I had this morning, on returning from the school run. When I went to strip Phoebe's bed to wash the spewy sheets, pillow case, nightie, etc., I not only discovered that the vomit was far more extensive than previously thought, and that it was really, really undigested. I mean, really. The people at CSI would have been able to identify the contents of her stomach almost immediately. Shudders.

Nope, surprises like those I could easily live without. (Currently I am hoping and praying that my washing machine will cope with the volume of bed linen I am cranking through it today - please, please, no surprises from the washer or dryer today, please!!!!)

But. I absolutely love love love happy surprises. Like when you discover that someone you love if moving closer to you, or that Gap is opening at Chaddy (now that was an excellent surprise!!). And thanks to my beautiful, long-suffering hubby, I have a surprise happening tomorrow, and it's killing me. All I know is that we are going out. He booked a baby sitter, and out of sheer necessity I know that I need to be ready to leave at 5pm. Which means that I need to have Phoebe home from ballet and dinner organised for the kidlets by about 4:45pm.

Apparently, we are having dinner in St.Kilda, and then....what????? I have been trying to guess all week. There's no reason for this surprise - it's not my birthday, nor our anniversary. I don't think I've been behaving particularly well recently, so it's not a reward for a job well done. He just came home and wrote "we're busy" on the calendar on tomorrow's date, and left me hanging. It's so exciting, I could murder him. The funny thing is, Christian loves surprises too, but he cannot wait for them. Before we had kids, he always made us open our Christmas presents on Christmas Eve. He used to hunt relentlessly for his presents if he knew they were hidden in the house, so that I had to resort to stashing them at other people's houses. And he very nearly cracked last night, when I asked once again what I should wear (well seriously, you'd hate to turn up to something swanky wearing jeans, wouldn't you? Or be wearing a swishy dress amongst a crowd of comfy-but-grungy pub dwellers? I thought so).

As much as I'm dying to know, part of the thrill about actually going out tomorrow night is the NOT knowing. We so rarely go out just the two of us, it would still be a fantabulous evening if we just got fish and chips and sat on a street corner in St. Kilda (although the dodgy factor could rise significantly...) Considering that my beloved has organised a surprise evening for the two of us, I am beside myself with anticipation. I have twisting myself into knots trying to guess.

Now, as I need to go and peg out all the spew-free sheets, I'm going to leave you with this (and seriously, I even changed my comment pop-up box so it would be easier for you, so indulge me, please!!!!) - where do you think I am being taken tomorrow night??