Thursday, 28 January 2010

Day 28 in the Big Messy House

Himself has become a Celebrity Big Brother widower. I’m caught between shame (I rarely watch television* and am kind of amazed that I’ve got caught up in a reality show) and piddling myself laughing. Watching an adult dressed as a chicken being tackled by an adult dressed as a pig was classic television!

I suppose ya’ll need an update or something too. Well… Babe is doing ok at Pre-School. I picked her up today and she nuzzled into my neck and said “Mummy I cried for you!” and broke my heart a little but you know. Sob. She’s enjoying it mostly. I’m not coming home and watching crap TV (OMG have you ever watched Jeremy Kyle**?? That boy was sooo lying, the git) and aimlessly kicking up dust and watching the clock to go get her. Sigh.

Nightmare before Christmas Dog is wonderful. He’s finally healthy enough to come meet our dog, so we introduced them yesterday. Our dog snarled at him. He sniffed our dog’s butt. Our dog sat down so his butt was out of reach. I gave them both a biscuit. Then they had a sniffle of butts again. That’s enough for day one. I’m sure they’ll be great friends.

Kittens are doing great. They have a secret stash of cotton buds somewhere, and keep dragging one out to play with which is driving me insane. No idea what the obsession is. It’s like kitty crack. I have images of Tiz sidling up to a big shady cat with a scar down one ear, sniffing suspiciously and rubbing his nose with his paw, trading catnip for ruddy EARBUDS.

Thing One asked me today if she could go to boarding school. I asked if Borstal counted. At dinner, she decided that she was no longer my daughter. I said she certainly is, I remember pushing her out! Himself added “Yeah. And I remember pushing you out a few months earlier!” Eeew, Honey. Way TMI there.

The Babe was feeding the dog a biscuit yesterday, and dropped it. She bent over to pick it up and he sniffled her hair. “Gerrof! I not food!” (OK, that made me laugh anyway).

Thing Two is planning a gymnastics display for a school assembly next week. The child who broke her arm trick or treating. The child who once tripped and fell into a brick wall. The child who can fall over oxygen atoms in the air. Gymnastics. Huh.

And. Today marks six years. Still missing you every day, sis.

*I’m not a TV snob, I just can’t see it from where the computer is and the Internet wins out every time).

**See? Definitely not a TV snob.

Thursday, 21 January 2010

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

Some little ones love to play Doctors. They like to wrap you up in bandages and take your temperature and check your reflexes. The Babe, on the other hand….

{Insert wavy special effects as I take you back in time to see Babe playing with a doll}.

“Rip your head off! Rip! Rip! Rip your head off! Chop your head off. Chop. Chop. Chop your head off. Now you’re DEAD. SCORE!!!!” And she clasps her hands above her head to celebrate.

Blood thirsty child, wot? I suppose she keeps the “doctors” in work.

Is it sick that she does this? Or is it sicker that I can’t help but sing along with Eurythmics tunes in my head?

“Chop your head off! (Movin’ On) Rip your head off! (Movin’ on)…

Wednesday, 13 January 2010

Up, up and awry

The Babe really needs a new nickname… she is no longer a baby. She has… gulp… started pre-school officially. As in, not just coming into work with me. She started last week, and things are a bit rocky but we’ll get there. She’s still only staying for short sessions, and will soon settle I know, but she is a bit clingy and worried at home.

By clingy, I mean gripping my leg sobbing “Don’t leave me Mummy!” And refusing to sleep the whole night in her own bed, coming in to us in the wee hours, climbing into the middle and wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. Pushing herself up against me, so that I instinctively move back. And back. Until I teeter precariously on the edge of the mattress. At which point she manouvers maneuvers manoeuvres wiggles around until her cold little feet are up against Himself’s neck so he flinches away. Also to the edge of the bed. And then she sighs happily, and goes back to sleep. Widthways.

By worried, I mean stroppy and bad tempered. “I. SAID. I. WANT. XYZ*!!!” Emphatic and slowly drawn out, as if I am a moron who didn’t quite understand her first demand. Foot stamping, arms crossed. Hurrumph! Tossing her hair around and turning her back. The message is quite clear. I am simply not jumping quickly enough. Bad slave Mummy!

Neither attitude is endearing her to me. Sigh. Stop throwing your weight around, just because you finally** have weight to throw. And seriously. Treating me as a traitor because I am offering you the chance to play with clay, and jump in a sandpit, and paint, and glue, and romp in the snow, and cuddle the resident pets. Well. I am obviously pure evil, aren’t I?

Hurry up and settle in, Babe. But, uh, don’t grow up too quickly, hmm?

*Generally food related. Probably the cause of the double starred footnote.
**From 11.3kg in hospital at the start of December to almost 12kg now. OMG. I suppose at least now I’ll have a reason to buy her a new coat.

Wednesday, 6 January 2010

In Stasis

I noticed this photo, taken in 2008.


And felt a bit bad, because this is now, 2010….


Yes, that is the same coat. And yes, the same boots. Oops. I think someone forgot to grow…

Saturday, 2 January 2010

The Nightmare Before Christmas

‘Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the town
The snow kept on falling and covered the ground.
The cold kept you home, by the fire burning bright
Because the ice and the snow was a terrible sight.

And out into that terrible weather trotted Thing One and her friend, and naturally they dragged home trouble. Or at least, they dragged me out, to go and get trouble for them. Trouble, it appeared, was a dog. He’d been running around, without collar, all day apparently, and now night was falling and the girls couldn’t just leave him.


It’s dark, there is a blizzard. Cars are sliding around. I picture him running into the road. I wince. I picture him trying to sleep in the snow. I can't just leave him.


We trudge around a bit, asking people if they know him, recognise him. Nothing. The snow beats us back and we return home.

We can’t keep him. We have a dog, an old dog that is troubled with arthritis. We have kittens, one of whom has severe congenital abnormalities and needs special attention. We have a toddler who is at face level of a dog, one who is unknown and may snap. And we have Christmas in FIVE days, with all the upset of routine that brings. And besides. He is somebody’s pet. They will worry about him. They will want him back.

So. I call the dog warden. Who isn’t working. I am directed to the 24 hour warden’s kennels across town. I look at the iced roads and sigh. I pile dog children and Himself in the car. We attempt to cross town to the kennels. It takes us nearly an hour to drive three miles.

The kennels are horrific. Open to the elements, and it is minus six, with ankle deep snow, whipped higher by the winds. I look at Himself. Please, can we keep him. No. He is firm. We leave the poor dog, and we drive away, me weeping silently so the girls don’t see.

At the start of the week, I call the warden. Nobody has come forward for him. He has been sent to a re-homing facility where he must wait for a week.

We have a week. The girls and I start to scheme.

For all the reasons listed, we cannot have another dog. Our family, however, is fair game….

As soon as the week is up, we drive to the re-homing centre, with Silly in tow. Silly isn’t sure, but we work on her carefully. She says yes. Hurrah!

Three days later, in time for the New Year, we are allowed to bring Trouble home again. He is an amazing dog. So polite, so well trained. Just a puppy still, yet walks to heel, and waits to be given food – not even sneaking off with The Babe’s dropped treats. He’s friendly and playful, and tries so hard to please. He’s perfect. I have no idea why anybody would ever abandon a dog… and especially not such a great dog like this.

I’m so glad that Silly has adopted such a lovely dog. He suits her perfectly and she suits him. What a wonderful ending… or rather, what a wonderful beginning for them both.

Happy, happy New Year indeed.