Right then. This has been sitting in my drafts folder since December 3rd, taunting me. And I wasn't going to publish it, but then I kinda figured, meh. Why not. (And I have been listening to the most awesome ReWiggled CD today, gifted to me by my favourite niece in the whole world. Since listening to Spiderbait "rockabye your bear" is guaranteed to put any old grouch into a fantabulous mood...well. Here it is. Enjoy. I think.)
December 3, 2011. Written quite late (I think - memory is a dodgy thing), after swallowing two Endone (definitely), two ibuprofen (probably) and two paracetamol (maybe?). Lots, anyway. All prescription, cross my heart and hope to be resuscitated.
Even though I knew I shouldn't do it, I did. It was a bad idea from start to finish. The only person I have to blame for the pain I am in now, is myself.
But.
Today I went to the Wiggles concert.
Actually, today I went to the Wiggles concert, under the influence of drugs.
Heeheeheeheeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!
A long, long time ago (possibly in the realm of 1994, but I could be wrong), Gertrude and I had a particularly successful era of socialisation. Being our first year of university, we were in possession of many opportunities to meet new people in a variety of social situations. During one such soiree, which, if I'm not mistaken, was conducted in the hallowed halls of Metro nightclub in Melbourne, we lost a member of the party for over an hour. When Gerty and I came upon him on one of the upper levels, he was gazing skyward with a rapt expression on his face. The explanation for his absence? "I was lookin' at the lights!" Indeed.
And so it was that I found myself today.
Obviously when I booked the five tickets to see the skivvied wonders, I did not anticipate having a gut full of recovering lesions which require ongoing pharmaceutical assistance. And as disappointed as I was, until last night I had resigned myself to staying at home while Christian took the kids to party on with Captain Feathersword and co.
But when I woke up this morning, I felt considerably better - enough to fool myself that a day out wouldn't hurt me that much. I mean, come on. How hard would it be to sit in the car, walk a few metres into a venue, sit for the duration of the concert, and come home? I mean, seriously. I'm not dead. And the thought of missing seeing the Mouse's face in the presence of her beloved Diddles was just too much to bear.
So call me stupid, but I saddled up the opiates, found a skirt with a loose waistband, and went to Flemington to see the Wiggles.
It was a return to grassroots-Wiggles this year, which was really refreshing - instead of the glitzy Rod Laver Arena spectacular of the last few years, it was a much smaller, very toned-down show. There were no big screens, no special effects, fewer dancers. And it was fantastic.
Even in the seats right up the back, you could see the expressions on Jeff, Murray, Sam and Anthony's faces. The interaction with the audience was brilliant, to the point where Anthony noticed a mother in the crowd searching for her toddler. I'm not kidding when I tell you that he stopped the music within two seconds, and calmly relayed the little girl's description to the audience from her distraught mother. The toddler was found at the other end of the big top to her mother, amidst much cheering and shouting. I couldn't have imagined that happening in the middle of the tennis centre, could you?
Phoebe danced from the opening music to the goodbye hurrahs. She was in her element, and it was gorgeous to watch. She knew all the actions, and didn't take her eyes off the stage for a second. Being Jack's third concert, he waved and cheered and sang, but he wasn't as excited as his little sisters. But Maisie. Oh, my goodness. The Mouse's eyes were wide even before we entered the big top, thanks to the enormous blow-up representations of the Diddles outside the venue. By the time the music started, and her idols appeared in the flesh before her, Maisie was speechless.
It only took her a song or two to warm up, and then she sang and jigged on my knee and clapped her little hands, and before long she was standing on a chair, screeching. Her mother's daughter, I suppose.
And me?
Well, thanks to my magic little white pills, all of my edges were a bit muzzy. The songs were sung a little off-key, the knee the Mouse balanced on was relaxed and out-of-time, and I think I spent a fair bit of time just "lookin' at the lights". But I enjoyed it all immensely, and I reckon I probably looked the same as any other mummy after her lunchtime chardy. Right?
And despite the fact that the pain returned with a vengeance during the car ride home, and that I am absolutely stonkered from actually leaving the house, I am so glad I went. I have an early night ahead of me, an easy day tomorrow...and just to see my kids enjoying themselves was priceless.
When they're revolting teenagers and I'm reminiscing about family outings to Wiggles concerts with my toddlers, I'll remember how their little faces lit up when Dorothy danced around in her tutu. I'll remember how excited they were to be greeted by Anthony only a metre away. I'll remember how they danced and sang, clasping each others' hands, happy to be together. At least, I'll remember once I re-read this old blog post. Thanks to my little white pills, without writing all of this down I'd probably remember humming a little tune to myself whilst lookin' the lights...
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