Friday, 28 November 2008

Hairy Mc Lairy

There is nothing like a great haircut! Makes you feel a million bucks, all swish and confident and sexy and young and lookitme-I'm-so-fab!!

And what I got at the hairdresser yesterday? Was nothing like a great haircut. Or even a good haircut. In fact, dare I say, it wasn't even a haircut. Butcher job perhaps. A candid camera lark, perhaps?

Firstly, they had a slip of a girl doing the washing, a trainee. So no head massage. Just coldHOTcoldHOtcold water and a quick lather and a squirt of water in my eye. The same trainee combed my long curly (read: frizzy) hair afterwards, after she'd rubbed the towel all over and knotted it to hell. Combed with one hand. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Never mind, here comes the professional to take over so now I shall relax. Just take some of the length off please and shape the front if you will.

It did look good when she cut it, I can't deny that. Sadly as it dried it sproinged up up up until I had an upside down pyramid and - oh no!! - a FRINGE. A thick hefty squared lump of hair on my face. I had.. [sob].. OLD LADY HAIR!

 

me Luckily, my neighbour rescued me from a vat of gin (old lady drink you see!) and fixed it. But now my "past my bra" hair barely reaches my neck. I'm never getting it cut again!

 

And the really stupid bit? I woke up today and SOMEONE HAD STOLEN MY HAIR!!!! Oh yeah, it was cut. I went to the town and caught sight of myself in a shop window and SOMEONE HAD STOLEN MY HAIR!!!! Oh yeah, d'uh. Saw my Mother-in-Law and she said ooh you've had your hair cut and I automatically put my hand up to my hair and SOMEONE HAD STOLEN MY HAIR!!! Oh FGS. I need to get a grip. If for nothing else but to hold my fringe back (my FRINGE!! Where the heck is my HAIR??).

It'll grow. It'll grow. Let it grow.

Tuesday, 25 November 2008

Karma

You brag that your toddler can do such-and-such a trick and they always then refuse to do it. They aren't performing monkeys after all. You write what you think is a sweet yet clear-eyed picture of your children, written - you hope - with wit and love - and what happens next? Yeah. They bite back. Story time, folks, pull up a chair!

Back story: Thing One took her coat to school on the first day of school, stuffed it in her locker and I haven't seen it since - despite countless requests to wear it on the rainy cold days or at least bring it home for a wash.

Conversation this morning.

Cast
Me (M) = Well, me actually
Her (H) = Thing One

M: Cold today!
H: I'm freezing.
M: Well I keep on asking you to bring your coat home.
H: I can't get to it, my locker is too far away.
M: Well I don't actually care, I want you to bring your coat home.
H: But if I go to get it after class I'll miss my bus home.
M: So get it at break!
H: No it's dorky.
M (quietly beginning to steam): Just bring your coat home today please!
H: I don't want to.
M: Bring it home or you are grounded.
H: So I'm grounded. Big whoop.
M: Thing!! You're making me cross. Bring your coat home or I will come into school and get it!
H: I don't care - all my friends' parents are really embarrassing too.
M: BRING YOUR COAT HOME
H: What's my "or"?
M: There is no OR. Bring your coat home and that is it.
H: Or??

So I built a time machine, went back 13 years and got sterilised. Hurrumph.

I knew that I had little or no chance of seeing the elusive coat after school so spent all day devising Machiavellian plots, eventually resigning myself to piling all the children in the car, driving to school and walking her and her sisters through the school corridors - loudly berating her at all times while encouraging The Babe to shriek for attention - all the way to the lockers. Bwah-ha-ha!

She, being occasionally sensible, brought her coat home.

I was actually a tad disappointed....

Sunday, 23 November 2008

Practically Perfect

Are your kids perfect? Are they MENSA members before their 5th birthdays? Are they infallibly polite to their elders? Do they co-operate with siblings and peers and talk their problems through?

Or do they scream, fight, bite, kick, fail their classes and in general make you miserable and wonder why on earth you thought you could ever parent?

I was reading a thread on a parenting forum by the lovely Katie who posed this question. I love Katie, she makes me feel normal with her tales of throwing I-pods out the window and running in the street in her pjs.

Thing One is autistic. You can't tell, because she is amazingly intelligent (sorry! But she is, she's in the Gifted and Talented programme - so there!). She observes and learns how to interact with the world by copying what she sees. Sadly she copies her younger sister and American teen programmes so her responses aren't as accurate as they could be. She quite often comes across as shy (her view) or rude (my view) and tends to behave quite badly in new situations. Holidays are a bundle of fun, as Posh and Ally can attest since they were brave enough to holiday with us this year. But she is loving and funny and clever and you take the bad with the good and make the best of it. And persistent - no you may NOT have a degu!

Thing Two is lovely. She is a sincerely nice child. She is loyal and brave and smart. She's clumsy and sometimes sly and revels in getting her sister in trouble. She is at the dishonest stage where she didn't do it, really! Even when the evidence is all over her (case in point; playing with my perfume last week. Her room and hands were very aromatic, ugh. Her punishment was having to sleep in it mwah-ha-ha). She isn't perfect but she is a nice kid who tends to find the good in any situation, a trait I hope she carries to adulthood.

The Babe is a brat. She is spoiled by her sisters and father. She can't count, doesn't know her colours and refuses to learn farm animals. She has an amazingly advanced sense of humour and is very affectionate. She throws amazing tantrums and is a little velcro cling-on. She's inherited my insomnia but she's always so happy to see me that her infectious joy almost makes up for it. Oh, and she loves to dance, which I must tape one day because I'm telling you - FUNNIEST THING EVER.

Are they perfect? Hell, no. Do I adore them anyway? Hell, yes. Will I continue to brag about them and stuff their bad sides under the carpet? Hell yes again. Will the carpet bulge and give me away? Hell yes too. Ah well. I'm not perfect either. (Practically though...)

Saturday, 15 November 2008

Unclean!

Run. Run for your lives! There is yellow quarantine tape around my house, and we have started to ring bells on the infrequent occasions we try to leave. Of course, we aren't actually allowed to leave anymore, since the nice men in the helmets and white suits won't let us.

Oh okay, I exaggerate. We are sick though. Thing Two woke with a sore throat on Wednesday and by mid-afternoon was pale, tired, lethargic and - oh, look inside her mouth! - suffering with white spots in her throat. Tonsillitis. Took her to the doc who said "Oh I remember you, I saw you last week about your arm. Was I right? Is it broken?" Thing Two listlessly waves her cast at the doctor, which is taken to be a threat since she promptly jumps up and bustles out to fetch penicillin.

Thursday, The babe woke up croaking and unhappy. She pointed in her mouth. "Hurts, mummy". Oh no. Luckily, no white spots and hers has developed into a full blown cold. The kind where the snot runs constantly and if you try and lie down you swallow it and then throw up but there's no point lying down because you can't sleep anyway and if you can't sleep then by damn no-one else will sleep and don't even think of changing your clothes because I'm going to wipe my nose on you and then I'm going to refuse all foods except possibly a lightly scrambled Dodo egg mmm yes that sounds good make me that mummy now I'm hungry and don't palm me off with a hen's egg because I'm sick and I won't be reasonable and I will scream and scream until I'm sick and oh my god did you ever see so much snot in your life and and and and.....

Friday morning, Thing One wakes up, takes a look around her, and packs a bag.

Himself has a lump in a place that he would rather I didn't discuss with the world at large. So I shan't discuss his lumpy privates in public. His privates will thank me for keeping them private then. And you won't know anything about his privates because they are private. Is the word private starting to look weird to you?

Ya'll know about my hospital trip so I shan't belabour that. Suffice to say bit crampy and itchy still. And my mouth still hurts, but now I have a reason to go relax in the dental chair so it's all good. Apart from lying sobbing on the floor at 4.30am that goddamn I am so tired why won't this child just blow her nose and sleeeeeeep, I'm actually doing okay.

And Thing One? Haven't actually seen her since Friday morning. She is staying at a friend's until the Hazmat unit drives away. And thus, the contamination secretly escapes control and seeps into the general public...

Thursday, 13 November 2008

Colposcopy Update

I know you've been on tenterhooks so I shall quickly tell you - I'm fine! Ok, ok so you haven't been on tenterhooks, in fact some people forgot I was going at all! That's okay, I've been on enough tenterhooks for all of us. Is tenterhooks starting to look a little strange to you?

Thing One is exclaiming in horror that I even want to share this with you, Dear Reader, she thinks I'm being "gross and disgusting". So, take fair warning - gross and disgusting descriptions of colposcopy coming up!

So, I laid on my back, feet in stirrups, camera viewing my hoohaa and had vinegar poured all over my tender bits. I even got to watch the camera progression on a television. Some sights are hidden inside your body for a reason. I don't actually ever want to see the eye of my cervix ever again, thanks! The vinegar stung a bit but in the cold, itchy sense rather than the ouch/flinch sense. It was over and done with in minutes and hurt no more than a regular smear test (yes, we say smear. You may say pap. You are wrong.) Nothing to worry about!

I haven't slept in weeks, and thunderclouds have lived over my town recently. I came out of the clinic into sunshine, feeling on top of the world!

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

Mental Dental

Yesterday I had to visit the dentist. I'm terrified of dentists, ever since I had a molar yanked without anaesthetic when I was 10 - a baby tooth that hadn't come out and needed to make room for the adult tooth. Just check-ups fill me with fear, I shake, and stutter and have floods of adrenaline running through me.

So imagine me yesterday. In the chair. Tilting back. The bright lights. The sound of the drills. The latex gloves squeaking and rubbing my cheek. A huge rush of adrenalin, I tensed and... wait. No kids. Nobody is calling me. Nobody wants me. I am lying supine. It is daytime and I am lying down and I'm... free. I relax. Wow. I'm going back next week just for the break!

Just since you haven't had any recently, here're some pics of what my day is usually like.

The babe... destroying shoes, emptying drawers and eschewing cutlery.

mads-shoes

 

 

 

 

 

 

mads-reading mads-in-drawer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

mads-eating

Sunday, 9 November 2008

Happy Birthday Thing Two

Never underestimate the sheer quantities of pizza a room full of pre-teens can eat. Or ice-cream. Like locusts they were! And the ice-cream sundae concoctions they dreamed up were simply disgusting. Lemonade, ice-cream, crushed meringues, whipped cream, sprinkles with a cherry on top? Anyone? Still Thing Two had a fab time and for a slap-dash last second party it went well.

Kids' parties exhaust me.

I thought I had it sussed. I have two rather wonderful child magnets in my house. (that sentence makes me feel just like the Child-Catcher. It's no wonder I like to dress in black.) I have at one end of my house a rather splendid rocking horse, which draws children to it like moths to a flame. At the other end is a trampoline, which has a similar function. Now normally these child magnets - the rocking horse and the trampoline - placed at opposite ends of the room can leave a child almost literally torn in two. They will stand frozen in indecision for ages, leaving you free to get on with the important tasks needed. Like catching up on your blogging. I bet you can guess what actually happened after sufficient quantities of e-numbers in the ice-cream sundaes?

Yep, the prize goes to the lady in the blue who guessed "Herds of screaming shrieking over-hyped children running from one end of the house to the other, unable to decide what to do yet unable to remain locked in stasis".

Never again.

Until the next time.

Friday, 7 November 2008

Broken Thing Two Update

Thing Two now has a beautiful bright pink cast. She's been an absolute star. She has never once complained - the most she has said is "it's a bit sore". She isn't allowed to swim, or take part in PE or go to her Cheerleading club, all things she adores, but she hasn't uttered a sound of protest. I'm not sure I would be so stoic. Hell, I know I wouldn't be! I'd take advantage shamelessly, guilting others to cater to my whims. Wait, I already do that. No point me breaking any limbs then.

It's Thing Two's birthday this weekend, she'll be nine years old. The original party plan has had to slide - a disco and karaoke - and we are now planning on having a quiet night in with a movie and pizza. And eight girls, 23 bottles of nail polish and immense quantities of e-numbered snacks and drinks. I'm already shaking in fear. Makeovers and movies. What fun!

Saturday, 1 November 2008

Himself broke my baby!

He may never forgive himself. He took the girls to an organised event last night, for Halloween. It was dark, muddy, they were on a hill. Thing Two fell. She broke her arm. While in his care. If you've read earlier entries you'll know exactly what his reaction was. That's right, he hustled her straight home; "She's hurt, fix her!"

alex-broken-arm

We've spent several hours in various waiting rooms, she's been examined by several people, she's been x-rayed, poked and prodded and finally had a visit to the wet room to have a heavy duty cast put on for a few days. Next week she gets to go and choose a lightweight colourful cast and then we shall all sign it. All I can do is count on my fingers. Six weeks... one, two... it comes off just one week before Christmas! Phew!


This is my first time dealing with a broken bone. I'm not actually very sure how to cope. My baby is broken. My poor baby. I may never forgive myself either.