Author: Reservoir Dad

The Jackson Four

RM and I are sitting in the school’s media room and we’ve just watched and clapped Archie and Lewis’s performance at their mini piano concert and right at this very minute Tyson’s playing ‘Hot Cross Buns’ on the piano in front of teachers, parents and sixty of his school ground peers and if you smacked a horse on the nose with a table-tennis bat and freeze-framed it’s immediate reaction, even before the spilt-second it needs to feel its rage, you’d get a pretty good idea of how I look right now – chin dipped, eyes squinting half-shut, lips pressed...

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‘Meet Me In The Middle Of The Night…

 …and let me hear you say everything’s alright’ ~ Romeo’s Tune, Steve Forbert ~~ I’ve been feeding my need for melodrama with Bob Seger and Cyndi Lauper and Johnny Hates Jazz and it’s that – as much as my concern for Reservoir Mum – that’s led me to write some overwrought and disposable stories tonight, but it’s only when the Thompson Twins start singing Hold Me Now that I look to the bedside table and see that it’s way past midnight and that I’m heading to an empty bed for the second night in a row, because RM’s still working...

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An Open Letter To My Brother In Law, Rohan

Dear Rohan, Two years ago after Reservoir Mum, the boys and I returned from a weekend staying with you and my sister Cally, I discovered a pair of your undies in the dirty clothes bag inside my suitcase.  Initially, I wasn’t very taken by them. They were a pair of black boxer briefs, by Maxx, and not what I typically wore, and I was annoyed thinking of how I had to wash them and return them, but that was only because I wasn’t able to look into the future to see what your underwear would do for me. It’s...

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The Undead Possum

Uncle Dave’s taking Tyson and Maki on a special trip to the park with cousin Dylan and so Reservoir Mum and I are out front helping him to buckle the kids into their booster seats when I notice a man – early twenties, black jeans, designer jacket – standing on our nature strip, tapping at his iPhone, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and staring across the road at a black sports car.  That particular car’s been parked there on and off for several months but I’ve never seen the owner and I’m wondering if this guy thinks...

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The House Keeper Diaries – Entry Two

It’s 7.50am and I’m streaming 70s-80s-90s classics from YouTube to the Plasma to give myself some disco-burn and to blanket some of the noise coming from the raging Archie-Lewis-Tyson-Maki cacophony because they’re really working me over this morning.  Shika, who’s been cleaning our house on Thursdays since I started writing my book last year, is due here any minute and I’ve been running around shouting orders to my teeming progeny and cleaning like a demon for the past hour because, well, to be honest, the house is a mess and Shika shouldn’t have to see it like this. Breakfast...

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