Blurred lines

Ok today was chill, quiet Sunday, couple of videos - there would have been swimming but we let the pool go green - big rain, high temps and the chlorine couldn't keep up. It's also Tropfest, free event in the Domain. Clare has packed her beer and cheese and disappeared. When you have small children, you include them in everything you do . . beach, holidays, free events, even put up with Play School Concerts. Hell, I've been the drummy mummy before DrumerBoy could drive, chauffering drums to various locations around Sydney for under 18 gigs. The netball noodle sitting all day at gala events celebrating possibly the most boring game on the planet. I really would have liked to gone to Tropfest but didn't think anyone would want to go with me - my friends do not share my love of film and music - too busy playing tennis, installing drip irrigation or admiring each other's golf handicap. I was actually, too lazy to canvass friends my own age but at 15:00 today, the call went out to Clare . . it's on, we're in the city, come for Tropfest . . .I really, really wanted to go but being the Parental Unit decided it would be wrong for me to suggest I tag along and the invitation was not forthcoming. We're not talking about a big night out, infringing on dating privacy, just a picnic in the Domain, a glass of champagne and a look at Australia's best short films . . I'm really sad. I hate being the responsible adult . . .I hate being the parental unit, the one left behind but I don't know why . . .cutting the apron strings is painful . . .