Big Girls (and boys) Just Wanna Have Fun too

Our school's Quiz Nite is legendary round these parts and I've always wanted to go. Ever since I heard stories (and saw photos) of my friend Meg's team outfits, I've wanted to be on their team.

They go ALL OUT on the costuming and props. Last year they won Best Dressed. My kinda team.

So when Meg said one of their regulars was unavailable I saw our chance and took it. We were in!

This year the theme was "Battle of the Bands" and our team decided to go as 80's Rock/Pop Stars.

I knew we had to make this good if we have any chance of being invited back, so I started googling for inspiration and up popped a picture of Cyndi Lauper.

I can do that! I thought, and dived into our dress-up box.

My initial attempt was posted on Instagram - and apparently I reminded a few people of "Jem - truly outrageous". Haha, not quite what I was going for.

Our wardrobe seriously needed augmenting after Mr G refused to go as "that perv" George Michael (a costume I could have put together for him with my eyes closed). Hubby decided to go as his childhood pop idol, Adam Ant - much more complicated but I reckoned we could nail that one with a bit of help from Save Mart.

I think we managed it, don't you?

I found Cyndi's tutu for $6.99, a silver leopard print top for $5 and the red wig for $4.99. Corset, belt and beads all from my dress-up box. Adam's wig was originally all braids (which I cut off leaving just a few strategically placed ones); his jacket was plain black but I added the gold ribbon (double sided tape) and the cape was $2.99 - all from Save Mart. Add a bit of white face-paint and voila, Adam Ant.

 We had a great laugh, and true to their rep, our team went all out...

Left to Right: Cyndi Lauper, Boy George, Adam Ant, Joan Jett, Willie Nelson, Siouxie Sioux and Madonna.

The very creative Joan Jett went all out with our table props, which included a gold lame tablecloth, flamingo and pineapple (Miami) paper staws, a (fake) box of Miami Wine Cooler and a diamond studded mirror with some icing sugar... (you know what that was meant to be right?)

We were finalists in the best team costume. (A Mariachi band won the prize, though some totally unbiased byanders said we were "robbed").
Boy George won best Male costume.
Cyndi Lauper got an honourable mention (finalist) which kinda made my day.

As for the actual Quiz? Weeeeellll.... we DID get a prize - for coming second to last. Ha!

But winning doesn't matter (as I tell my kids) the main thing is that the big girls and boys

all had LOTS OF FUN!

(and looked amazing too)

P.S. You can follow me on Instagram if ya want

xx

Snippets from my Rollercoaster Week...

Life really is like a Rollercoaster - it has all the ups and downs, thrills, laughs and terror of a theme park ride. I'm not one for theme park rides, generally speaking, and I'll take peace and tranquillity over thrills, anyday.

Here are a few of the ups and downs from my week, to tickle your funny bone, make you gag and let you know you're not the only one on this crazy rollercoaster ride.

The stuff my quirky kids say and do is always good at making me smile. Just this morning we had...

• the first day of August (eek) and a race with Dash to be the first one to blurt out "a pinch and a punch for the first of the month". As I sidle into the bathroom, he sees me coming and knows what I'm about. We both pinch and punch each other (with love and affection) and fall about laughing while retorting: "a slap and a kick for being so quick..!"  It's the little things that make your day, isn't it? The hallowed family traditions that give life meaning (ha). One of these days I'll beat him to it!
• a developmental milestone on the road to puberty. The "Embarrassed of Your Parents" milestone. That moment when your almost-12-year-old son asks to be dropped around the corner from the bus stop  because he doesn't want to be embarrassed. "Why because I'm dropping you off in my jammies?" I ask, pretending to be wounded. "You're embarrassed to have people see me? Well you can take your embarrassment and walk it to the bus stop next time!" Ha ha. He laughs. He knows I'm not really offended. And he exits the car (around the corner as requested) calling out, "Bye mum, I love you, have a great day...!" *SIGH*
• a too-big-jeans backhanded compliment. I'm getting dressed and Miss fab is lurking nearby. She asks, "Mum are those meant to be skinny jeans?" They are. My size 14s, the ones I had to buy when the size 16s became too big. "Well I think you need new ones cos those ones are too baggy. They look too big and they're wrinkling under your bum. You need some smaller ones..." Made me smile, really nice and big and wide. I need smaller jeans. *WOOP*

I popped two slices of bread in the toaster this morning, and within seconds my nose was wrinkling with a curious smell. A faint sizzling sound was coming from the toaster, now there's a whiff of smoke, the smell is getting worse... WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?

I look into the toaster and nearly gag. THERE IS A SLUG INSIDE MY TOASTER, sizzling against the element, stinking up my kitchen as it cooks.

A bloody SLUG.

There's no way I can get it out, no way I even want to look inside the toaster, let alone scrape slug guts from its walls... the gag reflex is strong.

I unplug the toaster - my good and faithful wedding-present toaster - and walk it sadly outside to the bin. It's long years of service are over. Rest in Peace, dear friend (not you, you creepy slug! Ugh! Gag!)

After 14 years of faithful toasting, our old Breville toaster is laid to rest and a shiny new four-slice toaster now sits in its box on my bench. Thing is, how do I prevent another bloody slug from crawling into this one?

The courier dropped off a new box of Nespresso capsules... I have coffee again!

Also on the upside I enjoyed coffee today with my dear friend Sammy after WAY TOO LONG. She's the best, and I plan to make her a fancy brunch soooooon.

Another bonus, while having coffee together we did a spot of shopping and I found another tin sign for my collection...

I have to admit to feeling a little bit invisible lately. A bit Lonely and forgotten.    I've been having a bit of a Pity Party and wishing with all my heart for The Village. 

Did you stumble across this post that was doing the rounds of Facebook? It made me get all yearny.

I shared it on my profile and had this conversation with a couple of members of the Village in my heart...

I can have a pity party and feel sorry for myself cos my phone hardly ever rings and I sometimes feel like I'm always doing the inviting... or I can put on my Big Girl Pants and realise that the Village is what you make it. (On the upside, once I'd gotten to grips with this, I've begun to find opportunities to connect with others; the Pity Party is over). 

My girlie's 10th birthday was on Monday; there was nothing exciting left in the cupboards, and since it's against The Rules to have a boring lunch on your birthday I whizzed up to the dairy after work, picked up some treats and dropped back into school to surprise her. 

What do I see? My birthday girl, sitting ALONE, head down, reading. Where are her friends? Why is she alone? (It's her birthday, being left alone is against The Rules). 

She sees me, bursts into tears and throws herself into my arms. "I'm having the worst day ever, mum. THE WORST."

Well, that is completely against The Rules! The Birthday Rules state clearly that having a bad day on your birthday is SIMPLY NOT ALLOWED. 

So I sign her out out school and we head to Little and Friday. Her birthday improves from there. MUCH.

[This is actually Bluebells Cakery, from a different day, but you get the idea]

That's been a few ups and downs from my week. So much more I could say, more ups, more downs, but this post is long enough. And the main thing as I've taken the time to write it all down here, I've realised that the ups outweigh the downs. And where there were downs, we turned them into ups. Or at least bought a new toaster.

Have a great weekend!

(What have your ups and downs been this week?)

Gravity Strikes Again

This morning I thought I'd be virtuous and walk Scrag to school. He's been begging me all week as it's just him and me, with Miss Fab off at camp and Dash leaving the house before the birds are up to catch his bus. Other days there had always been a reason not to, but today for once we were running early and I ran out of excuses.

Of course he insisted on taking his scooter. He got the MGP for Christmas and had been bursting to ride it to school. Just one problem: I hadn't got round to getting him a lock yet, which meant I was looking at lugging the jolly thing home on my shoulder.
(Have you picked one of those things up before? They are HEAVY.)

Scrag was not to be dissuaded, his heart was set on scooter-riding so I resigned myself to a bit of weights-and-cardio on the return journey.

See those pretty pink Chucks in the picture? I wasn't wearing those. They are a new addition to my shoe collection and I'm still getting used to them. Walking in them to school may have resulted in blisters so my Kiwi feet were slopping along in my comfy jandals* ... (*a.k.a. flipflops)

My footwear should have given me pause when the scooter got heavy on my shoulder on the way home and that gently sloping downward hill looked so inviting (since everyone knows you don't wear jandals on a scooter).

There I was on a quiet side street with that gentle slope calling to me and my shoulder aching.
I knew the MGP could take my weight so I threw caution and dignity to the wind and hopped on board...

Wheeeee! This was fun! I was grinning as I passed an old man crossing the road who stared in astonishment at the sight of this middleaged mama whizzing by on a scooter.

"Better to ride it than carry it!" I called out blithely as the scooter picked up speed...

Suddenly there loomed in front of me a bump in the pavement, an uneven join, a veritable mountain... could I take it?
My new-found inner daredevil skatergirl told me yes.
So I hit that bump at full speed, all 80kgs of me and gravity did the rest.

As I rolled spectacularly across the pavement, landing heavily on my hip and scraping my hands and bare jandal-wearing toes I was dimly aware of a car pulling out of the driveway right next to me... ouch, there goes my pride as well as the skin on my palms. I took care not to meet the driver's eye, or to look back and see if the old gent had seen my acrobatic tumble.

I picked myself up, slung the darned scooter over my shoulder and limped the rest of the way home, not even bothering to squeeze out a self-pitying tear. After all what did I expect? MGPs are not for MiddleAge Mamas.
And obviously Gravity is still out to get me. Darn you Gravity!

..............................

Some More of my Adventures with Gravity

• Darn You Gravity
• Falling Down Escalators
• Simone Jones: the Movie of My Life

If I Didn't Laugh I'd Cry

[a Miss fab selfie, pre-DIY-haircut]

Actually no, I DID cry.
My husband has been away for two weeks and this morning I "hit the wall".

I was in the bedroom crying over Scrag's messy bedroom and other last-straw-like events, when my eldest son Dash comes up and says: "Mum you need a hug..."

While he's hugging me so kindly I say: "It's just hard doing it on your own and not having someone to lean on..."
And HE says: "Here mum... lean on the wall!"

He was dead serious, he thought I needed to literally lean on something, bless him.

Dash was amazing this morning. He scootered with Scrag to school (after making his breakfast) and was very patient with his little brother and helpful to his mum. He's a great kid.

This was particularly a blessing because Miss Fab was refusing to go to school...

(The Backstory: she broke her elbow on Friday, just to keep things interesting. The cast is on her left hand. She's left handed. She can't get to sleep because of the discomfort. She is tired. She had a meltdown and refused to go to school...)

I tried to call my hubby and finally got through after three hours (he's in Prague) but had to hang up when I realised someone was weeping disconsolately in the background...

The weeping child was (of course) The Fab. She had tried cutting her fringe (a trick she has never grown out of) with her right arm (remember, she's left-handed) and was upset with (a) the result and (b) the fact she knew I was going to be really really mad. I found her hiding under her covers...

And so life goes on in the madhouse that is my temporarily one-parent household.

One more week til daddy comes home and I can collapse in a heap... ha!

When Hubby Plays Hairdresser

This is one of those "I can't believe I did that" stories.
Born out of desperation. Fuelled by tiredness. Stonkered by silliness.

It's the tale of a crazy lady, her helpful (over-confidant) hubby and a pair of (blunt) kitchen scissors.

First let me paint the scene.
It's late. After 11.30 the night before the Big Trip Away. Bags are packed and tickets printed; our subject is sitting in her kitchen lamenting the fact that she ran out of time to get a badly overdue haircut. Her bushy brown do is defeating even her GHDs. And tomorrow she has to go and face a gazillion bloggers, overgrown. Sit on a Panel. Help Deliver a Workshop. She looks so unkempt.

Enter our hero.

"Oh I sure do wish I'd had time to get my hair cut," the lady sighs. "Now I have to go and face a gazillion bloggers looking so unkempt. SIGH."

There's nothing this hero loves better than to fix a problem.
His damsel is in distress?
Fear not, little lady, Help is on it's way.

"You need a haircut?! Well why didn't you just say so! I can cut your hair, no problem!"
"Really? You think you can do it?" the overtired damsel breathes, clearly not thinking straight.
"Why sure!"
"You can cut it straight? Just a little smidge? Like THIS MUCH?" she queries, holding up a finger's pinch.

"Easy! No problem! Just hand me the scissors...!"

I know what you're thinking: Who is this crazy woman? And what is she THINKING letting a mad Geordie loose on her hair???
I know, I know.
It was a dangerous mix of excitement and tiredness that brought us to this desperate point.
There was no thinking straight. Just a mad impulsive leap to the kitchen stool, and a reckless handing over of scissors. Blunt kitchen scissors, at that.

She closes her eyes and holds up that finger pinch. Two Centimetres.
"Just this much, remember?"
"Yeah yeah, I got it," says the Zohan-wannabe.
Snip. SNIP. SNIP.
He plops a hunk of her hair on the kitchen bench.
That's an awful lot of hair.
She feels her stomach clenching and her heart sinking.
"That's too much! You're cutting too much!" she nervously peeps.
"Nah, nah, that's how much you said..."
She puts her hand up, feels... nothing.

All of a sudden she is 13 again, sitting on her mother's kitchen stool, feeling the air where her hair used to be.
Thirty years have passed and she's learned nothing.

WHAT WAS I THINKING? she shrieks as her insides turn to jelly.

"Whoops, better finish... can't leave it half done!" hubby mumbles.

Snip Snip. Snip.
Every snip of the scissors like a knife through the heart.
Finally Zohan's protege is done and she runs to the bathroom to survey the damage.

"OH MY GOSH! What have you done?!?!!? What was I THINKING?!?!?!"

There are chunks gone. And wisps trailing. One side is longer than the other. Instead of trimming two centimetres, it's more like ten.

"I have to go to Christchurch tomorrow! I have to sit on the panel! I have to help deliver a workshop! I have to get up in front of EVERYBODY!" she wails.

Hubby advances towards her brandishing the scissors.
"Here, let me fix it..."
"NO! I'll fix it myself!"

She does her best. Snips off the worst of the wisps, feathers out the worst of the chunks.
And then applies her trusty GHDs.
Miracle working GHDs.
Oh thank you God for GHDs.

It is enough. Somehow, amazingly the haircut doesn't look half bad.

Can you tell which one of these haircuts is Hubby's Hairdo?

Did you guess correctly?
It's....

Here I am, the morning after. With a sleek asymmetrical almost-bob. Actually looking better than it did before the haircut, according to Miss Fab (a noted DIY hairdresser).

Do you know, nobody even noticed. I was able to go out in public with no pointing and sniggering. And when I told my plane-buddies the story, angling for a laugh, they said, "So did you race and get it fixed up this morning at a proper hairdresser....?" It was that good.

Amazing. Nothing short of a miracle.
I got off lightly.

But I can promise you that when my hair grows back long enough so the "proper" hairdresser has something to work with, I will never, EVER hand my hubby the kitchen scissors late at night again. No matter how desperate (or tired) I am. Or how confident and convincing he is. Some things should be left to the professionals, aye?


Other Haircut Stories

• Haircut Trauma (Memories of bad haircuts)
• Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow (Miss Fab's DIY Haircutting adventure)

"Surviving"

We watched Survivor tonight, Me, Dash and Fab.
It's one of our "things". Watch Survivor. Discuss strategy and the meaning of life.

This episode was the one where the Survivors were visited by a family member to "help" them on a challenge. Lots of tears and hugging, of course. Then fierce competition (where the ones with the most athletic family members won, while the rest could only wish their gene pool was a little more athletic.)

[Source]

Then afterwards, this...

DASH: So mum if you were on Survivor who would you pick to be the family member that visits you?

ME: Well, probably Dad, cos you can't pick kids, but maybe if you were a grownup by then  I'd pick you, son.

DASH: Yeah, you'd want to pick somebody who would be good in challenges and help you win. But probably by the time I was old enough for you to pick me, you'd be like,, um, 65 or something so they probably wouldn't pick you for Survivor *laughs cheekily*

ME: Hahaha, yeah, so maybe it'd be YOU who would be on Survivor and I'd get to come and visit YOU *confident in my place as beloved mother*

DASH: Um sorry mum but I'd probably pick Dad cos he'd be, um, better in the challenges. If I picked you, sorry but I think we'd lose...

ME: *not offended at all cos I know he's right* Yeah, ha, you're right. I'd be pretty useless in challenges...

DASH: Or maybe Dad would be a bit too old too, maybe I should pick Scrag... or even Fab...

MISS FAB: Awwwwww! *hugs him*  THAT's for saying you'd pick me *dead-arms him* and THAT's for saying you wouldn't pick mum... Don't worry mum, I'D pick you!

Bless.
(It's good to know where you stand, right?)

Cool-as Clips to Make You Smile

Some days you just need a giggle. Or a warm fuzzy infusion.
Today might be One of Those Days.
In which case, here are a few video clips that at are making me smile lately...

First up is the creative genius of the guys (and girls) from SPANK (St Pauls Arts and Kids)... these are the people who are making the film version of my book. If you haven't seen these clips before, you're in for a treat.

("The Christmas Story" went viral on YouTube last year...I've posted the playlist of all their other movies as well...)



Now on a totally different topic, here's a clip about Instagram... it had me laughing all the way through. As an Instagram newbie, this really tickles my funny bone. If you're not on Instagram you won't get it. But yay for me cos I AM. Wahoo. Thanks Meg for Sharing it with me....

(Apologies for the F-word in the song near the end. I guess they needed something to rhyme with "Duck".)

 

Now for one last clip. This one is for all the mums who are feeling the pressure of the season. It's the Morrisons Ad from the UK, and my dear friend Linda told me about it. I think you'll like it...




Have  Great Weekend ♥

                                          Source: failblog.org via Kristen on Pinterest

; 

Darn you, Gravity

If I didn't know any better I'd be thinking Gravity is out to get me.
Gravity gets bored being just an Immutable Law and likes to play its little jokes. A kind of "Punk'd" for forces of nature, with me in a starring role.

Every single embarrassing moment in the past year has ended up with me on my ass in some way or other.

I can just imagine Gravity rubbing its giant hands together and sniggering, Hey here's that un-co chick from Auckland. Let's make her trip over her own feet again!

First there was the time I face-planted in front of the school Principal when I tried to kick the ball back to Dash's friends. Tripped over my own feet...  landed on my face... said a bad word... looked up to see the Principal standing there looking down at me...

Then there was the time the chair I was sitting on collapsed underneath me at a kiddies birthday party. I was sitting there minding my own business when the cafe chair I had perched my wide load on just couldn't take the pressure any more and gave up the ghost. One minute I am sitting sipping coffee, the next I am on my ass again.
Nice one Gravity, you really got me good that time.

And of course there was that time a few weeks ago when Gravity helped Scrag bowl me down the escalator at the Mall. We ended up in a heap at the bottom wearing icecream and popcorn in front of a food court full of people... thanks again, Gravity.

And now, if I haven't embarrassed myself enough already this year in front of the school principal, my kid's schoolmates, the Staff and patrons of Chipmunks and the shoppers at St Lukes... Gravity decides to Punk me in front of a bunch of strangers at gymnastics too.

On Friday mornings Scrag does gymnastics.
Last week began innocently enough, with a game of "Tails".
The kids poke a fabric "Tail" into their shorts and run away from their adult. The adult has to chase them and grab their tail.
So as Scrag races away from me I chase after him as fast as I can... (my first mistake).
He is racing around the edge of the mat, so I decide to cut him off at the pass... (my second mistake).

I reach for his tail... I have it in my fingertips... oh no! Gravity has taken over... I can't stop in time; my forward momentum carries me crashing off the edge of the mat, ploughing headlong into the balance beam...

DONK (the sound of my head hitting the beam)
CRUNCH (the sound of my spine twisting)
SCRAAAAPE (the sound of my knees bruising)
RED (the colour of my face as I lay in a heap with my ass in the air unable to move as the tears roll down my face.)

I spend the rest of the gym class pressing an ice pack to my back, trying to avoid everyone's sympathetic stares. Thankfully no permanent damage, apart from to my ego.
My reputation (as an un-co chick who gets regularly Punk'd by Gravity and trips over her own feet) is intact.

Darn it Gravity. You get me every time.



(Anybody else have an embarrassing moment lately?)

[Picture from Weheartit.com]

Pinteresting Wisdom

When time is limited and life is crazy, I turn to Pinterest for Blog Post ideas. Then I share with you some favourite pins: funny, silly, wise and true. To let you know I'm still here. To remind myself to smile.
And then I go and do the vacuuming and hope you enjoy...

Source: pinterest.com via Simone on Pinterest

P.S. The little link source captions for each image were messing up my layout, so if you want to find the source, just click on the image (they are clickable) or visit me on Pinterest

Falling Down Escalators

I once saw a programme on the telly about the dangers of escalators and small children. There was this one kid who got his fingers jammed in between the moving steps and they had to get the jaws-of-life to free him and he lost his hand…

Since watching that doco I have always been extra cautious, making sure to nag and do the safety briefing every time we step on one of those contraptions.

Step on carefully…  Hold onto the rail…   Don’t poke your fingers in there…  
Hey stop dancing…! 

Consequently I thought my kids were pretty awesome at Escalator Safety. Years on from watching the doco, not one of my children has lost a finger or toe to a moving staircase.

Perhaps this lulled me into a false sense of security.

Maybe it led to a dangerous level of overconfidence when approaching escalators and a foolish lack of nagging and safety briefings.

So really I can only blame myself for yesterday's incident on St Lukes Foodcourt escalator and the blow to my pride. Ending up on my ass in a heap at the bottom of an escalator after being hit from above by a 25kg child? My own fault.

We were heading back upstairs after getting supplies for the movie we were about to watch.

Ice creams, drinks, popcorn and movie tickets were all clutched in our hands as we headed upstairs. 

Miss Fab was at the head of the procession, rising up the escalator. Scrag came next with me right behind him.

I saw Scrag put one foot on a step, but he kept the other one firmly planted on the floor. As the step carrying his first foot started to move away from him he started to tilt backwards; his second foot was now on a step too but he was straddling three steps and rising higher, tilting further. 
Me, I was right behind him.

Suddenly I knew what was about to happen.

“Noooooooo Scraaaaaagggggg! Hoooooldddd onnnnnnnn!”

Too late.

It was like a slow motion film.

He began to topple backwards into me.

I had my hands full of icecream cones, popcorn and frozen coke.

I was climbing a moving staircase helpless to stop the force of gravity from sending my sturdy child crashing into me at full tilt…

…knocking me backwards down the escalator, ice cream, coke and movie tickets flying through the air…

…and landing in a heap at the bottom.

(Just one more incident to add to the Simoney hall of falling-on-my ass shame)

Thankfully no one was hurt. Thankfully we recovered the movie tickets.

But from now on I am back to being vigilant around escalators.

……..

NOTE: The risk of this particular type of escalator incident was never mentioned in the Documentary about the Dangers of Children on Moving Staircases, but let this be a warning to all of ye! 

Surviving a Family Sleepover

It sounds like a load of fun when she suggests it.

"Let's have a family sleepover in the lounge!"

Everyone is enthusiastic, they love the idea of snuggling up and watching movies together camped out in the sitting room. It promises to be a Movie Night on Steroids, with the bonus of family togetherness thrown in.

Kids run in every direction, dragging in camp mattresses, cushions and duvets from all four corners.
Soon we have a colourful cosy-looking giant bed made up on the floor. Room for everyone.
We said, Everyone, Dad. Did you hear that?

We string up some Christmas lights, even light a few candles. No wait. We didn't.
We got the candles out but thought better of lighting them.
(Candles + Blankets + Scrag = Bad Idea)

So now the room is all cosy. We order pizza, spread a tablecloth and have a picnic on our giant bed.
We watch a movie.
Hey! Where has Dad sneaked off to?
Daddy get back in here and watch Rio!

Now it's dark outside, the fire is flickering, the coloured lights casting colourful shadows.
Scrag is already snoring. We turn off the TV and cuddle down.
Ouch, this floor is hard. The elephant foam camp mattress does nothing to save my hip from the boards underneath. I'm sure I remembered this as being good to sleep on last time we went camping?
Hmmm. Must be that sand/grass/dirt is softer than wooden floors.

Eyelids droop. Kids drift off to the land of Nod.
I toss and turn trying to get comfy.
But where is Daddy?

Daddy's not silly. He is asleep in his lovely soft bed. The one he can stretch out in cos he has it all to himself.

The next morning I am aching from head to toe. Back, neck, hips, head.
"Poor ma-ma!" says Scrag, as his old lady mother groans to her feet.

Daddy comes in smiling and walking freely, not an ache or a limp in sight.
He's off on a fifty km cycle now. Up bright and early, full of beans and the joys of almost-Spring.

Daddy take a picture of us in our sleepover bed! We survived the night and the rock hard floor.

Hey, don't try and pretend you were here... you look far too lively to have survived sleeping on the lounge floor!

So. The secret to surviving a family sleepover is... Do Like Daddy Did.

(sleep in your own bed and then fake it for the camera!)

 

♥