the return

This feels a bit like getting in past curfew when I was younger (and had the energy and will to stay out late). I'd unlatch the gate like a ninja (although I suppose a real ninja would just have vaulted the fence), turn my key in the door painfully slowly, and only open it as wide as I had to, to avoid any noise from the street getting in. I'd slide through the gap, and close the door silently, ending the operation by flicking off the porch light, tip-toe to my bedroom, close the door, and congratulate myself.

And the next morning, Dad would still know the exact time I got in.

1. We're back in Dunedin, and have been for almost two weeks now. Mum is home and doing well. The shop is officially in my and Jimmy's names, and once the floors are finished (now that the demolition is done, they're being sanded and polished), we can move in and start painting and plastering. I have this feeling that I am going to be really good at plastering and painting, even though I've done both in the past, and they both required going over by my brother-in-law. I like to think he's just a perfectionist, although he points out that I had a beer in one hand and a brush in the other when I helped paint my nieces bedroom, which  may explain something. In the meantime, Jimmy is working overtime organising internet, electricity etc, getting samples of swing-tags for me to approve, and designing business cards and signs, and I'm sorting through clothes, and then napping, and then pondering capitalism, and how it seems fair to any sane person that the "assistant" does all of the work while the person they assist gets all the credit for pointing to a swing-tag sample, and choosing a colour scheme. Anyway, Thunderbirds are go, and if my painting has improved, we may be up and running in two weeks [insert gasp here]. Egad!!!

2. A few weeks ago, I mentioned a project we were working on that was taking a lot of energy, but couldn't say more about yet. (It's funny thinking of it as "a project"; I remember one of Jimmy's friends once describing me so.) Guys, the project is a baby. I'm just over fourteen weeks pregnant; due on St Patrick's Day next year. Selling clothes when I can't fit any of mine is going to be interesting; most of my wardrobe consists of high-waisted skirts and trousers which I haven't been able to do up for several weeks now. I'm thinking a witch's cape like Avery Jessup wore during her pregnancy might be in order. There seems to be an assumption among designers of maternity clothes that pregnant women all want to look like we live in the same small town, shop at the same chain store, and are borrowing our clothes from our mothers. What are the poor pregnant teenagers wearing? Guys, there's a gap in the market. Suffice to say, stretchy fabric is my new best friend. Along with naps. And snacks.

3. I don't have a third thing (which is a good indication that I need to feed again - did anyone else watch Juno again last night?), so I'll just play us out with the ever-awesome Patti Smith (and Springsteen).