On Finding Bliss

(with a Green Dog and Cancelled Holidays)

All I wanted was a holiday.

I had these big dreams of white sandy beaches in Cervantes — new bike tracks to explore, plenty of adventure for the kids. Sunsets over the ocean, feet up, good book in hand, and a whole week without email.

Bliss.

Well, hahahaha didn’t God have a laugh at that plan.

It all fell through four days before we were supposed to leave.

Fine. We’re still fine. Let’s adjust our expectations…

Forget the holiday, then — all I wanted was one quiet hour, a glass of wine, and my painting. That’s still bliss, right?

What I got was…

Silence.

And every parent knows: silence is a trap.

I should’ve checked. I knew I should’ve checked.

But the brushstrokes were finally flowing, and I thought maybe — just maybe — the universe had seen my hour of need and was finally giving me a break.

It was not.

A giggle.

A bark.

Then the unmistakable squelch of a paint tube meeting its end.

By the time I found them, Westley had created what can only be described as a modern art installation titled “Green Dog, Grieving Mother.”

My gorgeous Rottweiler — once a proud, glossy black — was now a fluorescent masterpiece. Westley beamed. The now-green tiled floor gleamed. And my soul quietly left my body.

“I like green, Mummy!”

I froze somewhere between laughter and cardiac arrest, while googling ‘are dogs allergic to acrylic paint?’

Jackson, to his credit, looked guilty but resolute — and then, in true Rottweiler fashion, he trotted off.

Tail wagging, he led me through the patio gate, around the corner… and that’s when I saw it.

My car.

My white, once-dignified mum-van.

Now a rolling art project.

All four sides — covered. Thick, textured strokes of green acrylic like some unholy collaboration between Banksy and The Hulk.

I just stood there, staring. Somewhere between a breakdown and an out-of-body experience.

Jackson’s a dragon.

My car’s a hippie van.

And my blissful afternoon plans? Cancelled.

It took two baths, a bottle of dog shampoo, a bucket of rags, and every scrap of my patience to clean it all.

Jackson still has a faint green shimmer when the light hits right.

When it was finally over, I poured that glass of wine and sat down.

You know… sometimes bliss doesn’t look like white beaches and sunsets.

Sometimes, it looks like a green dog, a sticky toddler fast asleep with a soft smile on his face, and the reminder that joy hides in the most ridiculous places.

Chew on that, Cervantes.

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This is Episode 1 of The Westley Chronicles — a weekly series about parenting, work, and trying to hold it all together with dry shampoo, duct tape, and stubborn optimism.

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See you next week,

Trinity 💚