Muddled Mum

Eve’s Fund

2012-01-13T19:37:00.001Z

Just an update here, and massive, massive thanks to you for the donations. Here is Eve, with her bike, which – because of you - she has well in advance of her op in February so she can use it and get used to it now! She’s over the moon as you can see – and it far surpasses anything I have ever seen – all I could say when we saw it was “It’s pink!”. Because it looks like a really cool toy not a disabled child’s equipment. It’s amazing, and so are you for helping her to get it. Thank you!

Human meat ‘n lellow stuff

2012-01-09T17:18:00.001Z

Babe is loving school and has settled right in. She recently switched to eating school dinners, so we’re asking her every day what she ate. So far, she’s had:

Can’t remember
Don’t know
Ummmm
Why-do-you-keep-asking-me-that?

However, she came home with gravy all over her face so we had a pretty good guess that she’d had some sort of meat that day. What kind of meat?

”Sigh. I don’t know. Meat that people eat. People meat. I had human meat. Wif graby. And lellow* square stuff.”

I’m going to start counting the kids in AND out of that school…

*lellow stuff = swede (rutabaga). She doesn’t like it.

PS Weirdly, she remembers EVERY pudding so far. She has her priorities straight.

Jonah

2011-12-07T10:12:00.001Z

This child is so brave, and you should all watch this. Can’t talk, crying.

Hoarding

2011-10-20T13:20:00.001+01:00

I am such a sloth. It’s incredibly embarrassing to admit, but housework and I are not on speaking terms. I’m the kind of person who can sweep a room with a glance and call it done. I think of “dust” as a noun, not a verb – in fact I adopt dust bunnies. I also hoard. These two in combination is not pretty.

However, in aid of Eve’s fund, I was forced to enter cupboards of doom yesterday. Cupboards that have been wedged closed and not opened in a decade. Cupboards I had to fight through sixteen boxes of stuff to get to. Boxes of stuff that eventually made me throw my hands up and exclaim heresy for. Heresy such as “WHO needs THIS many books????”.

I know I’ve mentioned the books on here before. Suffice to say that was several years ago; several years in which I have not disposed of a single book and have actually bought many, many, many more. Seriously… I estimated there are 5000 books in my bedroom alone. Yes, I checked the zeroes in that sentence. No I didn’t add an extra one.

However, I have decluttered now, and I have found loads of stuff that we will be selling at a car boot sale on Sunday. Weirdly enough, there isn’t a single book in there. Funny how that worked out. I tried, but they all whimpered and wanted a cuddle just at the thought of leaving home. I do, however, have a huge pile of “to be read” books, so it was worth it, eh?

(This started out as a diatribe against my houseworking skills and ended up being distracted by books. Pretty much as my housekeeping actually happened yesterday. Art imitating life and all that.)

Eve’s fund is on my blog, up on the right. Cheers, my lovelies!

Eve’s Fairy Tale

2011-10-15T14:47:00.001+01:00

Dawn is one of Babe’s best friends; she and Flower are in the same class at school (a year ahead of Babe because of the September split) and the three of them have a lot of fun together. I love bringing Babe into the playground every morning and hearing Dawn and Flower yell “Babe!” and they all hug and kiss each other and go off to play. After school, Flower and Dawn wait for Babe after class and they go haring off to play chase while we mums smile indulgently at them. Sometimes Flower and Babe run too fast for Dawn and they get told off; sometimes Dawn runs them down and she gets told off because she can really hurt them if her wheels go over their toes. Oh, did I forget that bit? Dawn uses a wheelchair.

I have used related pseudonyms all the way through my blog, so “Dawn” is really Eve. Eve has spina bifida and hydrocephalus. She is the happiest and most loving child you can imagine, although she has her moments – her body may be a bit battered but her mind is as sharp as a tack! She’s an incorrigible flirt and will bat her lashes at any man and pretend helplessness in order to get a carry and a cuddle. She’s pretty cool, actually.

This is Eve this summer at her aunt’s wedding and with Flower and Babe on Babe’s first day of school. She’s gorgeous, right?

She’s had so many operations and scans and needles and medical intervention her whole life that she can smell “hospital” on people now, which is pretty impressive.

Eve was at the hospital on Thursday and she needs more surgery. She needs to have her hip pinned because it is dislocated permanently. She needs to have both her feet in casts to try and pull them into shape. She needs botox in her feet. She has a lesion in her femur where her bones are becoming fibrous, which will lead to bone thinning, breakage, osteoporosis and all sorts of issues. And she’s only five.

There’s a way to slow down that bone thinning, you know. If she got a special bike she could exercise her legs in a safe way; school would dearly love her to get this bike, and the doctors say she needs it. Neither of them can pay for it and it costs over a thousand pounds. That’s really not a massive amount of money – if all of you reading this gave a pound, we’d be able to raise that easily. Over there, on your right at the top, there’s a button to donate to Eve’s exercise fund. If you wanted to, no pressure :)

This is not a panic post

2011-10-14T18:21:00.001+01:00

So as you might have gathered from the oh-so casual use of the word “school” yesterday… where Babe is already failing tests, natch… Babe started school. Proper big school. Big School, peeps! And I’m all blasé, because it’s, like, school, meh, I’ve already seen a few kids through school, it ain’t no biggie, right?

Thing Two also started new BIG school this term. Big, like senior school. As I said, big school, not a big deal. Been there, done that, I got a kid already did that.

Thing One started her exam years at school, the proper big exams stage. No big deal, really. I’m cool, I’m laid back, I’m mellow, guys.

Thing One, y’know, she’ll be leaving school after her exams. Taking a driving test. Getting a job. Going to uni. Leaving home.

It’s okay.

I’ll just sit here in my corner, rocking, with my thumb in my mouth.

(School. How on earth is Babe at school? And how on earth is Thing Two at senior school? And how on earth am I talking about Thing One leaving school?)

Hearing

2011-10-13T16:09:00.001+01:00

None of my kids have ever passed a hearing test. In fact, Babe failed one yesterday at school. We got A Letter About It. I'm pretty sure in my kids' cases it is because they are so ~~damned ignorant~~ laid back. The letter even said it may be a concentration fail. May??

I blame their father who also has selective hearing failure, but that’s usually a male gene. At least, it’s generally men who display it, right? But for some reason my entirely female offspring also display amazingly high skills at not hearing the words “bedtime”, “tidy up” “can you (do xyz)” and in fact anything with the words “no” or “stop”.

Thing One is going through a stage – please God, just a stage – of “emo-ism”. That’s Goth with Emotions to us oldies. She draws lovely images of blood dripping corpses and talks about death casually and dismissively. She has headphones permanently attached to her head while she listens to songs scream about angst and pain and whatever. I Do Not Like This in front of the Babe, who is impressionable and I frequently… daily… ask her to give it a rest. She is a typical know-it-all teenager though and dismisses my concerns.

Yesterday, Babe came home with a painting just for her big sister. It had the typical line of blue at the top and green at the bottom for the grass and sky. It had a grey blob and lots of red blobs. “That’s the rock and this is the blood where it killed someone.” Babe explains.

Thing One looks at me in horror, caught between laughter and remorse. “I am so sorry I did this to her!” she says.

Should have bloody listened to me, kiddo. Now I get to pay for counselling for the 30 kids in Babe’s class who saw this and it’s coming out of your pocket money!

“Eh?” she says, moving her earphones back into position with a grin.

The Summer of D’Oh!

2011-08-25T20:13:00.001+01:00

That’s been the predominant sound this month. I’ve been having a teeny tiny streak of… well, I would call it sheer coincidence and possibly a dollop or two bad luck. Big dollops. We’re talking horse sized. Elephant, even.

All Him Self can say is “Don’t touch ANYTHING.”

So far ~~I have broken~~ things that have broken in the house include:

The tumble dryer. Thank God it’s summer, eh? A British summer. Raining. So all my laundry is over radiators. Marvellous.

A laptop. Not mine, fortunately, the one the kids use. So no big loss. Except. Yannow. Summer. Kids are bored. They need to make plans with their friends (which is all done on facebook now. How time changes, huh? Even just two years ago they managed with texts.). They need to ~~look up~~ google timetables. Everything is done online, so they whine constantly and ask to use my comp to use the internet. Except…

The Whole Entire Internet. Or at least the part of it that comes to my house. None. Nada. Zilch. And it took our ISP DAYS to make an appointment to come out. So, I used a dongle instead – no, I’m not addicted, I can give it up anytime. I can use the telephone, unlike my daughters! Except…

(You know what’s coming now, right?)

The telephone. Let’s start with my mobile. For some reason, every text sent failed. I turned the phone on and off again. I removed the battery and sim. I checked the website for my phone. I checked the website for my network. I call Him Self* take a look. 5 hours later… yes, really, 5 hours… someone asked me if I had any credit. D’oh.
*Except…

The Landline. Because, natch. I tried to call himself to whine about my mobile and had no dial tone. Hurrumph. So, that evening he fiddled and messed and moved this wire and snipped that wire and fixed the line.

The telephone. Refused to accept the fixed line and stubbornly refused to work. 24 hours of sweating, swearing and faffing followed. On the verge of getting a new one, Him Self finally figured out that the base station had forgotten to communicate with the handset. He inputted a code and all was well again.. All that stress for nothing.

My oven. Which is almost new so I’m not happy and taking this one further. In the meantime, cooking has become a real joy.

The bathroom light. I did wonder if there was a power surge or something because the light flared and dimmed and flared and dimmed… and then it was gone. Oh dear.

The kitchen light. It’s starting to become a joke now, everyone is pointing and laughing at me, so when Himself asks me to turn on the kitchen light I jokingly ask “Are you sure?” And then… <flicker> <flicker> <zzzzt> Yeah.

Oh, and the floods. I’m actually blaming the kitchen light on the floods. Twice… TWICE IN A MONTH… we ran the bath and forgot it and flooded the damn house so badly it literally streamed through the kitchen ceiling. Wet plaster stinks, fyi. And as an even more direct result of that:

The kitchen ceiling. Sigh.

Tomorrow, I am not getting out of bed.

Brightest Spark

2011-08-15T23:22:00.001+01:00

You know that old trick… the one with the fingers. Hold your fingers out… okay.

Now, count those fingers… 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… plus the 5 from your other hand. That’s eleven, right? You have eleven fingers!

Thing Two frowned. “No, that’s not right,” she mutters. So, I do it again, but inadvertently pick up the other hand. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… “No!” She cries, triumphant. “My other hand is the one with six fingers, so I have twelve!”

Pause.

“Oh, man. I can’t believe I just said that.” she groans.

Brag. She matched her sister’s top scores in her Year 6 SATs. Looking at this, I really don’t know how…

Surgery

2011-08-15T03:51:00.001+01:00

Ureterocele surgery and reflux surgery here.

3am sucks.

2011-08-15T03:44:00.002+01:00

No matter which way you are coming. Late, late night or horrendously early morning, 3am is the worst time in the world to be awake. It’s when The Horrors arrive, the “What-Ifs”, the “Maybes” and the “Might-Have-Beens”. It’s when your mind ticks over and obsessively goes over the same thing over and over again.

One thing, the same thing, goes over and over and over and over and it drives you mad.

The same thing whispering sadistically in your mind. Forming a rhythm, badoom badoom badoom.

However, we now have technology to look it up and figure out that damn earworm. Ah. Yes. Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam. 1986.

That was really bugging me.

Gah

2011-08-11T02:03:00.001+01:00

Sleep, beloved, I was wrong. I can’t do without you. I miss you so much. The bed is lonely without you, I just lay there staring at the ceiling wishing you were with me. Let’s work this out?

Again

2011-08-09T14:05:00.001+01:00

Sleep,

Fine. I don’t need you anyway. I’m still a rock star and all that. I have caffeine. Yes I do. And coffee. Which is also caffeine. And chocolate. Ditto. And I can take the LOT. Just watch, I don’t need you at all!

And don’t even THINK of coming sniffing around me mid-afternoon anymore. There’ll be no sneaking off together ever again!

No love!

Insomnia

2011-08-08T13:29:00.001+01:00

Dear Sleep,

What do you want me to do, beg? Fine! I’m begging! Come back to me. We used to be so good together, you and me. In bed, on the sofa, in the car…. We were just so compatible. I don’t know why you left me, but come back, we can work it out.

Me x

Open Letters

2011-08-06T16:59:00.001+01:00

Dear Sleep,
I don’t know what I did to offend you, but I am sincerely sorry. I don’t know why you won’t come see me anymore. I… I miss you. Please come back.
Me x

Dear Bad Weather,
You, on the other hand, you I don’t miss. I am soaked. That thunder rattled the windows and made people scream. Some people thought it was a bomb and threw themselves to the floor. The floor that you had flooded. My sandals are ruined. Ankle deep water, I ask you. Gross. I need to dettox my feet now. You just stay the heck away from me. Tell your cousin, the Good Weather, that I miss HIM.
Me (no x!)

Always

2011-07-14T19:59:00.001+01:00

Today, my middle daughter “graduated” from Primary School. This was her Leaver’s Assembly finale song. As they played it, they showed pictures of the class; as babies, as they are now and as they want to be as adults, dressed up as footballers and vets and rockstars. The children sang, and then it seemed as one, they burst into tears. They have spent seven years together, and now they will be going their own ways, leaving behind friendships and forging new ones in new schools. Random parents jumped up, handing tissues to whichever child was nearest, as the entire hall choked up. Our babies are growing up, and leaving us behind.

Afterwards, we were walking up a street and Thing Two saw some bollards. She has, since toddlerhood, found any wall or raised structure irresistible and naturally she leaped up to stand on the bollard. She wobbled and her hand came out, backwards, reaching. I put my hand up and caught hers until she got her balance, and then she let go and stood confident and proud perched on the pedestal.

As a metaphor, this would stand alone perfectly. However, all my heart could sing, while she stood there, was “For a second there, she still needed me.”

Twitter

2011-05-09T16:24:00.001+01:00

I had to be coerced to Facebook. Dragged to Blog. My last bastion was Twitter. I was adamant I wasn’t doing it. My friends fell for its lure one by one, and I stood firm. The slebs tweeted with abandon and I resisted. I had no intention of joining.

For starters, I don’t do anything interesting enough. I rarely write status updates on Facebook (except Farmville requests). I forget to blog – heck, I forget to call my mum. My life just isn’t that scintillating that I need to compress it to 140 character soundbites.

(Can you imagine?? Woke up. Did school run. Had cup of tea… yawn).

Anyway, I have issues compressing my thoughts into soundbites. Why use 140 characters when 1400 would do? Why 1400 when 14,000 would be even better? I burble, babble and bibble. I don’t get to the point except via an extremely roundabout route that takes in several places of interest and incidentally points out the pretty scenery.

PLUS. I am the technological equivalent of Wilma Flintstone. I don’t have a SmartPhone. I barely know what one is. I use my phone to (gasp!) make and receive calls. I send texts but only started that recently. I quite like the handy camera in a phone function, but I still forget to use it. That’s it. I wouldn’t know how to get online on my phone and have still to set up voicemail. I call my daughter to get the number to check my balance (in my defence there, I switched carriers to join them – I did know the number on my old carrier!).

The only plus point in its favour is that you don’t have time to get distracted. Type, post, bang, done. It’s taken me an hour to type this, I’ve lost my train of thought several times, I know I had another point to make but that’s gone.

Ally wouldn’t give up on me though, and forced me to join the Tweeple. See that? They have their own damn vocabulary. Even joining is a clique experience. You are asked to give an URL with no explanation of what that is – is that my blog? My fb address? Oh! You mean what the URL would be once I join, to find my profile, i.e. a USERNAME! Why not just say so??

That 140 character limit has also brought back the dreaded and dreadful text-speak. Lyk b4, cr8ive splling. Ugh. There’s an entire dictionary that I as a twewbie now have to learn, plus entire realms of twetiquette about hashes and @ and whatever else. It’s twerrible (what, is that not a real twit word? Bloody should be).

So, I’ve now joined the Tweeting majority. Sigh. I need people to follow so feel free to let me know who you are in that world so I can add you!

(Am now eyeing tumblr, why not, ‘eh?)

Pity, not Party

2011-05-03T13:42:00.002+01:00

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy.” – Jessica Dovey*

“That old law about 'an eye for an eye' leaves everybody blind.” – Martin Luther King

I remember ten years ago. I remember talking with a friend on MSN who could see the Towers from her work, her absolute shock and horror as she watched the carnage unfold. I remember talking with friends who’d lost loved ones, family and friends. I remember my autistic daughter being terrified and not knowing any words to help her to cope with it.

I remember six years ago when it happened closer to home, deep underground trapped in tunnels, and then on an ordinary London bus travelling its mundane usual route.

I remember watching news reports of terrorists, dissidents, fundamentalists and ordinary people, dancing in the streets in joy and elation. That was shocking… dancing at other people’s pain. The world condemned the attacks and the glee.

I can’t understand the glee now. Ignoring the conspiracy theories for now, the news reports that a man died. His family and staff died. Thousands of people around the world have died. This is a time for closure and reflection, not celebration.

I know many people won’t understand this, but many more will. I hope that those who have been directly affected by his actions find some peace in current events.

Insha’Allah, Deo volente.

*Not MLK

City Hospital

2011-04-15T12:50:00.001+01:00

Babe’s ongoing medical traumas continue… she’s been referred to City hospital which luckily is only an hour or so away by car. Her first appointment there was the other week. So she and I and Himself piled in the car and off we went. Drive drive drive.

“Are we nearly there yet?”

”I need a wee.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Are we there NOW?”

(That was just me. Yes, I am an annoying passenger.)

We also had the usual row about the best way to get to City (my way was naturally far superior, my second route was okay. He went his way, and we ended up stuck in one way systems and at red lights. Just saying.)

Finally arrive at hospital and Babe is actually bursting, so I end up leaving Himself and rushing her off to find a loo. Mistake number one, apparently. Turn up at the paediatric clinic to find an officious snotty petty <coughcough>Sorry choked on bile there. To find the nurse demanding a urine sample and don’t I know that of course I would need one, isn’t it obvious… well, no, actually. No other hospital has asked for one. She’s just been, no way I can get a sample off her. Let’s try forcing water down her…

Except, we can’t. Because actually, nurse not included, the City hospital is, like, awesome, mom! I swear it looks like a playgroup. It has craft tables. Art. Outdoor play. Computers. Doll’s houses *with furniture*!!!!!! Toys with some parts still attached!!!!!!!!!! (Non NHS readers can only wonder about the amazement here; those of us who have endured the NHS will understand my shock). Babe is off, and we have to corral her to actually see a doctor.

The doctor is fairly amazing; he explains things without condescending, he is patient and even cracks the odd joke. Wow. So far so marvellous, ‘eh? Except… well, we went in expecting to hear a) let’s wait and see if she grows out of it or b) we need to do a small op and then she’ll be cured. The prospect of a c) that would blindside us so completely never actually occurred to me. Silly me.

She has a word-I’ve-never-heard-of blah blah. It’s quite rare apparently so we need to repeat all the tests blah blah. If they find what they are expecting they’ll just pop the kidney out (and omfg did he just suggest a nephrectomy on my BABY???????). And they want to REPEAT those tests that she hated??? Awwww crap.

I walked out shellshocked.

Babe however, walked out singing. “I love that place! I want another point-ment! Hospital is sooo fun!” At least she’s happy, huh?

Pretty Damn Cool…

2011-02-05T15:51:00.001Z

Insignificant much?

2011-02-04T19:48:00.001Z

How is this fair?

2011-02-02T19:43:00.001Z

The ultimate insult. It isn’t “You’re a bad mother”. It isn’t “I think I saw a marquee that might fit you.” It isn’t even “You’re that bad in bed… snore.”

It is “Excuse me, Young Lady <Herk, herk, herk>.”

I’m not even forty yet. Some whippersnapper approached me in the street about to ask for.. oh I don’t know. Charity subscriptions?? Free samples of anti-wrinkle cream? A Kays catalogue??? And his opening line was a smirk and “Excuse me Young Lady”. Yeah. I thought that was something you said to OLD people, not young, cool and fit me*!

I’m gutted. Almost cried there and then. Bastard.

*Two out of three and all that. Shut UP.

And to make matters worse… I needed to crop a picture of Himself and some of the sprogs. Opened it in Photoshop. Opened a second window. Dragged a layer over to start cropping and Himself’s face filled my screen. Words… fail. THIS is what I saw.

He barely looks old enough to vote. How??? How is this FAIR??

Service to SURFice

2010-12-31T16:01:00.001Z

Puppy Diary 5

2010-11-05T00:24:00.001Z

I thought I had this awful detention place sorted, I thought I had the staff here trained. Things like, for example, they give me a circus-type clown performance if I give them the command – the command for the clowns is “piddle on floor” and then they fall over themselves, making loud noises and baring their teeth. It’s very amusing, and they seem to enjoy it, so I do it frequently for them, bless them.

I’ve even got the kibble coming several times a day now, and I have reached so-far… which is a comfy place to sleep and not a command centre as I initially thought.

They did keep on trying to put that “lead” on my shackles, but I have worked out that I can leave the prison with the lead on and we go to an all-you-can-eat restaurant, which is great. They call it the “park” and they don’t actually let me eat the buffet there so I have to sneak it while they aren’t looking. Conkers, yummy…. Then they grab me, pin me down and wrestle me and put their fingers in my mouth. This seems to be another clown performance, so again I encourage it by grabbing at any passing rubbish to nom nom nom on.

However. They surpassed themselves in evil genius this week. I’m not sure I can forgive them. I was taken – shackled and on the lead – to a new torture place with lots of other prisoners. I got into hot water there. Actual, for real hot water. Ugh. I wriggled and tried to escape but they put slippery-stuff on me so I couldn’t get out and splashed that water around until the slippery stuff was gone. Which makes no sense but who can fathom these weird humans? Then... I can hardly tell you. Then… they took a machine and passed it over my body and… and… when I looked… sorry, this is making me very emotional. When I looked… my fur… my fur was just GONE. Not all gone, luckily, I wasn’t left naked. But it was SHORT. How am I supposed to get the mud from the buffet place attached to me (for snacking on later) now??? What a very cruel and unusual punishment this is.

Me… No fur… grrrr!

Haircut, age 4

2010-10-19T19:00:00.001+01:00

Recently Babe has been doing a pretty good impression of some sort of abominable monster. We’ve affectionately called her Cousin It. Here.. this is actually pretty tame, imagine this swirling around the place, picking up dust and encouraging the puppy to jump and bite it…

It got a bit long, huh? So we had to visit the “hair cutter”. And she lost around… ok, lost exactly because I just measured it… EIGHT INCHES OF HAIR!!! OMG. That’s a huge amount. Anyway, here’s The Babe, age 4, post-haircut.

Hey look, we did this post before!

The Universe Is Against Me

2010-10-15T00:45:00.001+01:00

This is a (bad) representation of my shower control. When I get in the shower, it’s pointing at 6. That’s too hot for me, so I adjust to 5. 5 is freezing OMG jump out of the way quick. Adjust to 5.5. That’s also freezing. Sigh. Adjust to 6. Also freezing. Huh? 6.5. Freezing. 7. Freezing. WTF?? 8. Cold. Grrr. Fine, whatever, I’ll have a cold shower. Cold is better than freezing. Wet hair. Apply shampoo. Lather. Water boils. There is no in-between, it goes from cold to Holy Crap I could make tea with this. Screech. Jump out of the way with scalded.. uh… outer extremities.

This shower doesn’t like me. I have shampoo dripping into my eyes. It burns. Eeek. Turn down water to 7. Boiling. Waft shower over toes to see if it’ll cool down if I give it a chance. No. To 6. Ha no, boil sucker. The steam is wafting into the shampoo dripping down my forehead turning it into some sort of sloppy goo that can get into eyelids that are squeezed shut.

5. That was freezing before, right? Yeah… not anymore.

Whack it down to 3. Still too hot, but not burning so I quickly rinse the shampoo and tears of pain.

Still hot. Reach for the shower gel…. Nudge shower control without moving it… suddenly the water temperature drops to zero and ice cubes drop on my head. Ouch. But also hah, I didn’t move you so I just proved that you are a sentient, malevolent, nasty… uh… machine. And I am bloody cold.

Turn shower right up to 9 because boiling has gotta be better than hailstones in the bathroom, right?

Ah ee ah ee ah aeee… sod it, that’ll do, DONE.

In Which I swear. A LOT.

2010-10-13T18:03:00.001+01:00

I was talking with a friend today. She needs a pseudonym… uhhh… Sandy. She’s Sandy. Actually Sandy is like the worst name ever because Sandy is the uptight virgin from Grease while this woman is more at home sprawled back, fag in hand, vodka in the other, cackling with me about penis sizes. Anyway. We’ll call her Sandy with an ironic wink, eh?

Sandy said there was nothing worse than having a reallyreallyreally bad day and you go to your husband/partner/whatever for a comforting hug. And they use the opportunity to grope your ass or boobs. You’re like “What the FUCK???!” And he’s like “What?????” As if he did nothing wrong and you are some over-sensitive uptight shrew.

Yeah. That’s bad.

I wish I’d remembered, though, what Himself does to me….

So I had a bad day. Thing One has morphed from this gorgeous bundle of love into a mouth with an attitude. She was doing her usual being mean thing, this time at Babe. So I literally screamed at her that Babe had spent 8 hours in hospital this week alone, she was in pain and tired and why couldn’t Thing One just be CIVIL for God’s sake.

And then I went into the kitchen, turned the Ipod up LOUD and burst into tears.

Himself came in and asked me what was wrong…. “She’s just a child but she won’t be a child much longer, she could leave home in as little as two years and I do nothing but YELL at her because she’s so horrible but I have so little time left with her and I hate all this…..waaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.” Sobs I.

“Awww.” he says. He puts his arms around me. And then he says it. The thing that is worse than groping your crying wife.

“Is your period due then?”

WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK BASTARD YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT!!!!!

And okay it is due, and I was upset so I wasn’t exactly coherent but... I’d rather be fucking GROPED than fucking PATRONIZED. YOU TWAT.

Well I didn’t break my baby this time

2010-10-12T17:46:00.001+01:00

She did it all by herself. Fell down the stairs, flomp. Bang. SCREAM. Quick trip to A&E when she couldn’t put her foot down. Quick = 3 hours. X-ray of ankle clear. Go home. Next day, ankle bruised, swollen, still not weight bearing. ‘Nother quick trip to A&E. 2 hours. X-rayed from hip to toe. Nada. She’s bruised her bones (I used to think that was a made up illness, like cooties). Back at hospital tomorrow. In the meantime, she can’t walk at all and we’re having to carry her literally everywhere. She sits on the sofa, bored out of her mind, whining. “Mummy can I have…. uuuuhhhh…..”

Wanna bet how long my patience will last? (Hint; bet SMALL, people, SMALL!).

Road Rage

2010-10-12T17:40:00.001+01:00

1) If I stop on a busy narrow street to allow you to drive first, don’t say thank you to the car BEHIND ME, you tosspot!

2) If you are on a bike and I am in a car and we come to some traffic lights don’t swing around me to come past me on my right to fly across the lights as if magical-forcefield-of-omgitsabike will protect you from the cross traffic. You scared the crap out of me when you sailed past my window. Tosspot.

3) Probably most important. If you are in a car park and I am happily driving past you don’t just reverse out of your space straight into the passenger side of my car. Pretty please? TOSSPOT.

(OK. Maybe those first two aren’t really rage worthy. But it was a quick five minute trip to the train station to drop someone off, and they all happened in the same journey….)

Puppy Diary 4

2010-10-04T00:40:00.001+01:00

Kibble is fast becoming one of the biggest benefits of this incarceration. I even get some at mealtimes now, which is a vast improvement on the mush they used to serve.

They took me back to the kibble place this week, but the nasty torturer this time didn’t give me kibble when she nipped my neck so I cried a little. Then they gave me a BIG nip on my neck but that time they must have felt guilty and gave me kibble so it was alright. They said the BIG nip was a “chip”, but I’ve seen chips on the smaller jailers’ food and there’s no way they stuck one of those huge things in me. I had a good sniff and scratch just in case. If they stuck food in my neck I wanted it out! It might be good, like kibble!

They did get new shackles. They made jokes about getting a pink sparkly shackle but luckily they decided to be sensible. Or so I thought. They attached a long “lead” to my neck shackle, which is not at all sensible! So I bit it and worried at it. Then they took it off.

I have deciphered quite a few of their bird noises now, but I shall pretend to remain ignorant so that they can’t tell me to do things. They keep making silly noises like “no” – often followed by the word “biting”. They do this when I investigate things like wicker baskets and fingers. I shall ignore them.

I have had some success with training the littlest one to understand a proper language. She now knows that “cry” or “head on side” means feed me. She isn’t very intelligent because she also thinks that “sleeping”, “exercising”, “researching escape routes” all mean feed me. I don’t think I shall tell her any different because it’s one way to get extra kibble.

Note to self; crying makes them feel bad and they give me kibble.
Note to self; bite the “lead” to make them rescue it and leave me alone.

Puppy Diary 3

2010-09-24T00:36:00.001+01:00

There have been developments. I have been allowed to leave, under strict supervision. Some sort of day release programme, I assumed at first. However it turned out to be some sort of very strange torture. I was taken to a building that appeared to contain several other prisoners. One by one we were taken into a special room, and some strange cries and squeals emerged. I was taken in, and made to stand on a high metal table while the Chief Torturer poked and prodded me and held various instruments over me. Then I was given kibble which was actually very tasty. While I was eating there was a sharp nip on my neck but the kibble was good so I ate it. I’m not sure why the other prisoners cried. The kibble was yummy!

The next time we went out I assumed we were going for more kibble and was disappointed to find that this new place was kibble free. I did meet another prisoner who was very big. He didn’t have any kibble either. He let me sleep on his bed, but then when I tried to use his ball to exercise he growled at me. He was alright, though I’d rather have had kibble.

The captors appear to be shrinking over time. It’s very strange. I used to climb one and sleep on her shoulders but now her shoulders are too small and I can’t get comfy. I nibble her ears and she makes me get down. So mean. They’ve also taken off my shackles because it was very tight on my neck but I think I shall get a new one soon because the Big Prisoner had one on.

I’m beginning to understand the bird noises. “Goo’ Bay-Lee” is some sort of praise, I think. I hear it a lot. I think “Bay-Lee” is their name for food, because if they say it and I run over I get kibble. I like kibble.

Puppy Diary 2

2010-09-10T21:27:00.001+01:00

Day Four: I have met some fellow inmates. They are unnecessarily hostile and repel all my friendly overtures with hisses and slaps. I am beginning to think they are Stool Pigeons, since I have seen them cosy up to the Captors in a very friendly manner, purring and getting extra rations in exchange.

Day Five: I have been attempting to access some of the higher places in the prison, namely the Captors seating area. They tend to congregate there while viewing the box-with-lights-and-sounds (some sort of communication device?). However the high places are just too high and even taking a running start and jumping as high as I could, I still bumped my head on it. The high place (seems to be called a “so-far” in their bird-noises) remains out of reach for now….

Puppy Diary

2010-09-09T08:48:00.001+01:00

Day One: My Captors appear quite terrifyingly huge. I show no fear. There is a cage cell with a bed and water in it, but it seems that I am allowed to roam in the prison freely and cell times are erratic. I cannot trust these captors who seem so capricious. As night falls I manage to pin one down and I fall asleep on their chest, refusing to use the bed in the cell.

Day Two: My frustrations at this confinement are hard to bear. Sometimes I yell at my captors. When I do this they punish me by carting me to an outside area with giant hundred foot high walls. No chance of escape. I show my displeasure by squatting and pooping on their land. The captors respond with wild whoops, bashing their massive paws together and chanting in high pitched voices. The noises they make are hard to understand... it sounds like “Goo’ Bay-lee!” Some sort of incantation I suppose.

Day Three: One of the captors is much smaller than the others, and doesn’t make as many weird bird-like noises. It is possible I could teach this one to communicate. This one appears to spend a great deal of time on the floor, manipulating plastic objects, so I am able to climb onto its legs and look at its face. When I do, it also repeats the incantation from yesterday… “Goo’ Bay-lee…”. I’m not sure what this means.

Puppy!…

2010-09-08T00:12:00.001+01:00

O hai ebberybodee!

This has to be the cutest ~~guinea pig~~ puppy! Want to smoosh him? He nuzzles up under your chin and snuffles you. He’s so cute, yes he is, yes he is, who’sa cute boy… squeee!

Normal service will be resumed once Pup gets past the omg-awwwww stage!

Is it Autumn??

2010-09-02T11:35:00.001+01:00

I seem to spend half my life thinking “where did the time go???” (And the other half thinking “God I’m bored, can’t wait until…”. Irony, wot?) The thing is, I’m pretty sure life does go by reallyreallyreally fast as you get older, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised when I realise things like Christmas is only 4 paydays away (aaarrgghh).

Plus, of course, these summer holidays were actually only 5 weeks long, not 7 weeks like last year, so they did zip by really fast!

I dread the end of term… the idea of the kids being at home 24/7, of entertaining them, of having to deal with the fights and the bickering, the expense of the ”Canihaves” and the ”I’mboreds”. The thing is, by this end of the holidays I also dread them going back!

I get so used to the lazy mornings… sleeping in until 9am…. staying in pjs until 11… the kids playing out… dozing in the garden in the sun… (ok maybe that last bit was just wishful thinking. Damn British weather).

This post was just interrupted by me glancing at the clock, realising the time, jumping up in an adrenaline rush because oh crap! I’ve got an hour to get Babe to nursery and she hasn’t eaten or gotten dressed yet eek!

See? And THAT is what I miss about the lazy summer days. No adrenaline, no rush, no “have to”, no clock-watching just laid back and relaxed.

(Plus… and I realise this is breaking the Mother Honour Code… plus... I kind of miss my kids too. Hey, I actually LIKE my kids* and like spending time with them… stop looking at me like that… stop judging meeeeeeee!!!)

*Sometimes. Just saying.

Puppy!

2010-08-31T20:48:00.001+01:00

Romance

2010-08-10T14:24:00.001+01:00

You can't live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you.
John Wooden

Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out.
John Wooden

Never mistake activity for achievement.
John Wooden

It's what you learn after you know it all that counts.
John Wooden

If you don't have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?
John Wooden

Don't measure yourself by what you have accomplished, but by what you should have accomplished with your ability.
John Wooden

Failure is not fatal, but failure to change might be.
John Wooden

Wooden was a well known basketball coach in the USA. However what inspired me when I learned of him a few years ago was his utter loyalty and devotion. He met his wife, Nellie, when he was fifteen, and they were together almost sixty years. Nellie died in 1985 and John continued to visit her grave and write love letters to her every month. As he finished each letter, he would add it to the pile of others which he kept on her pillow. He did this every month for twenty five years. He died this summer, loving Nellie always.

Once I was afraid of dying.
Terrified of ever-lying.
Petrified of leaving family, home and friends.
Thoughts of absence from my dear ones,
Drew a melancholy tear once.
And a lonely, dreadful fear of when life ends.

But those days are long behind me;
Fear of leaving does not bind me.
And departure does not host a single care.
Peace does comfort as I ponder,
A reunion in the Yonder,
With my dearest who is waiting for me there.
Swen Nater, inspired by John and Nellie

Wee Willy Winky

2010-08-06T15:57:00.001+01:00

Me, in my old ratty pjs, running up the street peering in my neighbours windows at 3am. Not a great image, eh?

I have this teeny tiny phobia about fire. And moths, I hate moths. My eldest tells me that I must have died in a fire in a previous life, probably tied to a stake (probably at night, with the moths attracted to the flames... hah take that Freud!). I think it far more likely that my phobia springs from my father accidentally setting the house alight when I was a toddler, but whatever floats your boat.

So, asleep in bed. 3am. I get a whiff.. a tiny sniff.. oh my god, a fire! I am so much better than any smoke alarm, and I am out of bed, running into the children’s rooms before my brain catches up. Wait, I can smell fire but there’s no smoke. And my smoke alarms, so sensitive they pingpingpingpingping if a spider crosses the ceiling, are quiet. Hmm. Not my house then. (I still check every single room and electric socket).

So… it must be a neighbours house! I run into the street and check the windows for flickering light. Because you know that is obviously how I’d know. Tcch.

Himself finally catches up with me. He leans out the front door. “For pity’s sake, it’s the bloody tyre yard across town, the wind must have changed!”

Oh.

I scurry quickly back into the house, and sheepishly slope back to bed (although with that adrenaline rush the chances of sleep are now nil). I may be a total idiot but secretly I am still impressed at my super sensitive sense of smell. Me 1: Fire 0.

Entitled Old People

2010-07-10T17:34:00.001+01:00

You know those entitled old feckers? The ones who push in the lines at post-offices “because you need to learn to respect your elders!”; the ones who call you a child abuser if you smack your toddler or tut about how useless you are if you try and reason with them; the ones who get to the till, watch the cashier scan their groceries, refuse to bag them so the poor cashier has to do it, then – and only then – get out their little change purses and offer to pay in pennies counted individually; you know those ones? We’ve all met them, I’m sure. Well yesterday, I met their king.

I was outside my friend’s house, waving her mother off after a 3 day visit. You know how that goes, you end up stepping onto the road a little as your enthusiasm takes over. I was perhaps 8 inches from the kerb and I’d been there approximately 3 seconds when Entitled Old Fart drove up and decided he wanted THAT SPACE! THE ONE I WAS STANDING IN! AND NONE OF THE OTHERS VISIBLE ON THIS STREET ALONE! YOU BRAT SHOW SOME RESPECT FOR YOUR ELDERS!

So, naturally he would have pulled up, beeped his horn, rolled down his window and shouted at me to get out of his way, what did I think I was doing standing slightly the road waving like a loon anyway?

Except no. He looked me in the eye and quite deliberately and with malice RAN ME DOWN. He obviously thought he could bully me with his car until I moved, and I did step back onto one foot in shock, but that is all I had time to do when he hit me.

He was going slowly, I didn’t get hurt really, and his face when he realised his bully boy tactics had failed was a picture, but still. HE HIT ME WITH HIS FECKING CAR! Unbelievable.

Bet you can’t top that!

DISCLAIMER: I have no prejudice against Entitled Old People in general. In fact I fully intend to be one, one day. I shall pinch the cheeks of overly groomed teenagers and tell them they are wearing too much makeup and pinch the bum cheeks of the lads and then cackle madly. I’m quite looking forward to it…

Anita Renfroe

2010-07-10T10:55:00.001+01:00

Do you remember that fantastic “Mom Song” set to the William Tell Overture a few years ago? Hilarious Anita Renfroe has released another one…

UTI again

2010-07-08T11:32:00.001+01:00

A postscript to this, which was itself a postscript to that. She’s getting them again. She had one at the end of June and another this week, a real humdinger this time, to the point of uncontrollable fever, vomiting and rigors. Unbelievable. We’re off to the doc to see about reinstating the prophylactic antibiotics because this is seriously just no fun at all.

Brag

2010-06-29T19:25:00.001+01:00

And, in other news, worthy of a stand-alone post because this is Big News Indeed.

Thing Two has been chosen as Star Pupil.

Now I know this means nothing to you so I shall explain. She has been chosen, of all the children in the school, as this week’s Star. Starriest of all the children, or “pupils”. See how that works? Clever, huh? In practical terms, it means she gets to go to lunch early every day with a friend – so is currently very popular with everyone begging to be chosen – and she gets to wear a natty waistcoat that is passed from Star to Star every week, and worn over her uniform.

Well done Thing Two, honey.

*(Is it awful that my first thought was “I hope someone has washed that damn waistcoat”?)

**(And I’m pretty sure Thing Two is most chuffed because Thing One was never chosen, so now Thing Two has one-upped her. Ah, sisterly love…)

Disney Dilemma

2010-06-29T19:17:00.001+01:00

Thing One is away in another country again. You may notice my calm poise, especially compared to last year’s hysteria. This is because Thing One is now a teenager and therefore the bane of my life. So, calm. Poised. Mature.

MY BABY COMES HOME TOMORROW YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Calm.

Since she’s coming home tomorrow, she’s just now deciding to buy souvenirs, natch. So she texts me…. wait, sidetrack. Bloody teenagers and their bloody phones. She’s cost me over £60 in overseas charges. Forty seven texts so far today! Bring back the days of no mobiles, eh?… so she texts me.

What does Babe want from Disneyland?

Anything.

Who is her favourite character?

Any.

Choose one!

One.

MOTHER!

Fine… so I ask Babe what she wants. She tells me she’d like a Daisy Duck.

There aren’t any. Does she want a Minnie?

No. A Duck.

There aren’t any… choose something else.

A duck.

How about a mouse?

A DUCK!!!

It’s the mouse or nothing.

Fine. I’ll have a Goofy….

2010-06-27T15:02:00.001+01:00

2010-06-26T10:33:00.001+01:00

Itchy scratchy

2010-05-26T00:13:00.001+01:00

I’ve spent the last few nights ensuring that the dog formerly known as the Nightmare Before Christmas is all clean and bug free. It’s left me a little… itchy. You know how you can’t hear about lice and nits without scratching your head? (Oh, are you itchy? Sorry.) As I was saying, lice and nits. (Heh. I just did it that time for kicks.) Fleas. Fleas make my skin crawl. So I have come home and am about to forgo my lovely hot bubbly bath that helps me sleep for a cool power shower that wakes me up.

Posh: What, no bath?
Me: Well, no. I want to wash the wee imaginary beasties away not sit and give ‘em swimming lessons.
Me: So I shall shower... wash hair... go to bed with wet hair... look like scarecrow in the morning.
Me: Scare small children in the street.
Posh: And have mouldy pillows.
Me: And inhale said mould nightly over time and get lung disease. Marvellous.

I don’t actually have time to re-wash my hair tomorrow morning, since I {sob} have no car so will have to be up and out early to walk everywhere. The car suspension broke today.

Himself: Did you drive over a pot-hole??
Me: Tcccch. No! I’m not that crap a driver. However, say there was a pot-hole… could I sue the council for car repairs?
Himself: No.
Me: Then no, there was no pot-hole. Must be just one of those weird random things, eh?

Himself drove like a maniac around to the garage at 2 miles an hour which is all the suspension would allow, to catch the mechanic before they closed. He barely made it, so he told the guy to just order the parts, cost is immaterial. He said that. To a mechanic. I did wonder why he didn’t just say here, have my credit card, the deeds to my house and my first-born child.

Then I realised that he has no credit-card and no-one in their right mind would want our first-born.

We may have to move, though.

Numero =/= Nombre!

2010-05-07T17:27:00.001+01:00

Mumblemany years ago, I was fairly fluent in French. Enough to read a book, if not hold a technical conversation. But then I moved North, and stopped using it and you forget it, you know.

J’ai oublié!

I knew I was bad, but I thought I’d be able to fudge through with a student who spoke a little English. What I didn’t expect was for Exchange Student to laugh at me every time I open my mouth.

Just because I said “Demandé a ton pere si c’est la precis nombre de téléphone…” (no idea how to do grave vowels on a keyboard), she laughed her head off and told her father I was a moron. Huff!

Happy Star Wars Day!

2010-05-04T21:23:00.001+01:00

May the Fourth be with you…

Ok. Silly things make me laugh, and I liked that!

We’ve had a cultural invasion. French exchange students arrived today. If I’m not back in a few days, send baguettes and fromage.

Au revoir!

Nosy neighbour

2010-04-30T21:20:00.001+01:00

I frequently visit my mother-in-law in the evenings. I may have mentioned this. After the children are in bed, I go around. I have a quick cuppa with her and a chat about her day. I make sure she has eaten. I walk her dog. I quickly tidy up and do the washing up. I make the Horlicks, and tuck her up and then I go home, locking up behind me.* I am, in short, Best Daughter-in-Law EVA!!!

It’s just routine and no big deal, so I was shocked be stopped by Neighbour Woman today.

“I noticed your car moves at night, “ she says. “What’s going on?”

I look at her. Smile. “Actually,” says I. “I’m on the Game, I’m just out earning. Times are hard, you know. But don’t tell anyone, eh?”

Her eyes gleam. “Of course not!” she says, off to spread the word in glee.

She turns back… hesitant. “You’re not a prostitute!”

“Not really, no. Besides, I’d only make 5p a night, and that’d be someone paying me to go away. Actually, it’s a neighbourhood conspiracy, we get up in the night and move our cars to mess with your head….”

She laughs, uncertain who the joke is on. I nod and move on.

Tccchhhh.

*Re-enactment may not be entirely accurate.

UTI Result

2010-04-29T18:42:00.001+01:00

Just a post-script to this. Babe was scheduled for a DMSA scan in March. We had to be there at 9am, so they could put an anaesthetic cream on, and wait in the playroom while it worked. The play therapist remembered us… this may be because I spent Babe’s hospital visit cutting out and laminating Christmas decorations!

After the cream had numbed her, they injected a small amount of radioactive chemical into her, which was over with in a couple of minutes. Then we were sent off for another hour. Sigh.

The actual scan was simple. It took fifteen minutes of so, while Babe lay very still on the big machine but they put a movie on to distract her and she was fine.

The results took a month to come in and show that her right kidney has been scarred and she has lost almost a fifth of its function. However her left kidney is working harder to compensate and they are going to keep a close eye on her blood pressure for the next few years, so it is nothing to worry too much about.

And, she is now off the prophylactic antibiotics she’s been on since December, so yay!

Bye, Puppy

2010-04-25T01:45:00.001+01:00

One of the worst decisions you ever have to make is when to end a life. You never can make the right decision because even when the majority of you knows that it is right, there will always be a piece of you that doubts it. Always.

He was limping so badly, his arthritis pained him so much that he could no longer jump on the furniture or into the car. How sucky is it that you get banned from furniture your whole life and just when you’re finally allowed up out of respect for your old bones that you can’t even jump anymore? He couldn’t do a full circuit of the park on his walks, and certainly no more chasing imaginary rabbits and jumping Beechers Brook. Long gone are the days when he could dislocate your shoulder by a sudden change of direction... Babe could walk him sedately and she’s three years old.

He started to lose his mind. I can’t list all the things because it is too painful, but seeing a great dog suddenly change so rapidly… and he was a great dog. Protective and loving and kind… thick as crap but no-one’s perfect.

He was a bit blind, mostly deaf, and didn’t want to eat much of anything.

The vet said there was nothing they could do anymore. And so now he’s not coming back.

It hurts.

We’ll miss you, Merlin.

31.12.99-23.04.10

Eek

2010-04-13T14:23:00.001+01:00

Thing One and Thing Two co-operated beautifully in a game of make-believe yesterday, using props and imagination and knowledge of the world and all those marvellous things that you have to tick off to show normal development.

They were planning a funeral.

From the death, through to the planning, notifications to the bereaved, processionals service, burial right through to the haunting.

They are so well adjusted….

My Kid’s On Facebook….

2010-04-02T13:25:00.001+01:00

I’m not actually allowed to talk about Thing One anymore, so naturally I shall ignore her and carry on regardless. She had a birthday that I can’t talk about except that.. she’s now old enough to have a Facebook account. I’m now a “Mom on FB!”.

There are a hundred Internet jokes about mothers on Facebook but I just wanted to point out I WAS THERE FIRST!!! How come there are no ‘net virals about KIDS taking over FB??

Grrr.

DIY

2010-03-16T23:04:00.001Z

There’s a reason, you know, that it is always – ALWAYS – best just to get a man in rather than let me loose on anything.

All I did – I swear – was take a tile off. Just one. And the whole lot just collapsed. Yes that is brick wall that you can see.

I think I’ll just get tile paint rather than remove the rest of them.

How not to make my night…

2010-03-15T00:09:00.001Z

I went out to visit my MIL and SIL last night – Babcia and Silly. We had a very pleasant evening. Dear God, how old am I that my Saturday night special is spent watching TV with my in-laws?? But I did, and I drove home after midnight to find my street swarming with flashing lights – several police cars and a huge van blocking the road. Oh no, I hope everything is alright. I came closer and saw to my horror that they were outside my house. My house. Police. My children are in there…

Heart in mouth, I screeched to a halt and shouted out of the car window to ask what was going on. The police officer asked if I lived there, and told me to park my car. They were in my space so I had to try and parallel park a few houses away. While shaking. I made a hash of it, naturally, and ended up abandoning the car. To be honest, that tends to be my mode of parking anyway, so meh.

Himself stood in the door glaring at the officers in anger… he told me they’d had reports of a domestic and had questioned him quite aggressively even though he had no idea who had called and that they had made a mistake. I quirked an eyebrow and had a quick chat with the officers – who, incidentally, were perfectly lovely to me. We laughed about it, and I wished them a pleasant evening and good luck finding the correct address.

Just a misunderstanding, no harm, no foul. I really hope the poor people who did need them got the help they needed.

Himself, though, is seething. He doesn’t seem to understand that it would be normal for them to get a call, go to the address and find a man protesting innocence and exuding charm. I can totally understand them wanting to come in and check, to demand to know his wife’s whereabouts, to not take one person’s word for it and need to double check. He is furious that they thought he was lying. I think that is the way the world works, and yes it is awful to be a suspect just because of your gender but suck it up, make nice and it is over quicker. He hates it and has been in a strop ever since. Tcchhhh. Get over it.

But… would I be so quick to brush it off if I were male, and it were me?

Happy Mother’s Day!

2010-03-14T23:50:00.001Z

My all time favourite gift… Thing One excelled herself. My children can be really sweet, thoughtful and generous. Generally, they are annoying, argumentative and infuriating, so these flashes of niceness are especially sweet.

She bought me jelly sweets. I love jelly sweets. Cola bottles and jelly babies and wine gums… I love them all. So she used an old glass jar, and layered it with jelly sweets. She wrote her own labels and tied a ribbon on top. It was beautiful, and thoughtful and I love it.

Damn shame she used an old pasta sauce jar that still reeked and every single sweet tastes of garlic.

Gag.

Bumpsa-daisy!

2010-02-20T12:52:00.001Z

Himself scares me. I find myself feeling sick. Naturally, I shield my children from the brunt of things, but they have picked up on certain… tensions. I do whatever I can to avoid the wrong circumstances, and yet.... Even the youngest, poor innocent Babe, now looks in fear at her father and says “No Daddy! You not drive! You bad driver! Mummy drive!!”

Out of the mouth of babes, says I.

How has he scared us? Let me count the ways…

1. He tailgates. Stopping distances are for wimps. When I can’t see the license plate of the car in front my foot tends to hit the floor, looking for an imaginary brake. That, apparently, is the same as saying “I don’t trust you.” Well, duh. I don’t. Now back off!

2. He speeds. Whooshing along at triple the speed of sound, gravity forcing the flesh on my face backwards into my bones, sonic booms entertaining the other poor road users, my foot again goes for that imaginary pedal. Except, I might add, when we are going to visit my mother. For some strange unknown reason we crawl along on the way to visit her. Snails overtake us. Anyone would think he was reluctant to go.

3. He refuses to change lanes. Miles of whooshing along, staring in disgust at the two inner lanes, empty of traffic, yet he will. not. move. in. So frustrating. If, perchance, we come across someone else doing the same thing, the inconsiderate moron, Himself will fly around him, overtaking on the slow lanes in disgust.

4. Those inconsiderate morons included, every other road user is a…badwordhere… He swears, gesticulates, pounds the steering wheel. He is the epitome of road rage.

5. He has damaged the car… many cars… in many accidents. He has driven into ditches, swerved to avoid dogs, ran into the back of other cars, had other cars run into him, written off one car and so on.

6. With my daughter in the car, last month, in all that ice and snow, he did doughnuts in the car park. Hand break turns, you know. With my daughter in the car. On ice.

And yet, I rarely criticize him. I generally just do the driving myself, it is safer. Less chance of a row.

So you’d think, wouldn’t you, that when I had my first accident in twenty years of driving… my first tiny bump, an insignificant scratch, barely worth mentioning really… that he would be more supportive?

Hah.

He is taking great pleasure in taunting me that he, at least, has never had the children in the car when he crashes. He has printed out “The Idiot’s Guide To What To Do In A Crash” and placed a copy under every seat in the car, and in every car in the entire family. He is enjoying every second of my humiliation.

Stupid moronic other driver getting in my way….

Happy Valentine’s

2010-02-19T10:10:00.001Z

Day 28 in the Big Messy House

2010-01-28T01:09:00.001Z

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.

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

2010-01-21T18:56:00.001Z

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)…

Up, up and awry

2010-01-13T01:11:00.001Z

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.

In Stasis

2010-01-06T20:51:00.001Z

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…

The Nightmare Before Christmas

2010-01-02T00:21:00.002Z

‘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.

Sigh.

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.

Sigh.

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.

Epiphany!

2009-12-31T18:17:00.001Z

OK, my Epiphany might be five days early according to the calendar. But when the tree actually collapsed under the weight of the kittens climbing it once too often, my Good Idea – or Epiphany, geddit?? – was to put the damn decorations away already!

We have had an amazing Christmas. Finally, a white Christmas, too. I’m so sick of snow, though. It’s cold, and wet and icy and I think moving nearer the equator may solve a lot of problems next year… Although, for the first time in years, I did NOT have a cold over Christmas. Probably because I had a real humdinger of a cold while Babe was in hospital at the start of the month (so much so that I was terrified to sleep in case I snored*, so stayed awake for three full days straight).(*OK, you know that EVERYONE snores when they have a cold, so don’t point and jeer at me. Huff).

I hope you have all had a wonderful Holiday season, whatever you celebrate, and wish you all a very happy, healthy and prosperous 2010.

Joyous Erastide.

Suck Up

2009-12-15T17:03:00.001Z

Thing One wants something.

She has tidied her room. Played with The Babe. She is setting the table as I type. She is co-operating with Thing Two. She has already done her homework. She has begged me to make dinner so it is ready when Himself comes home. She has made him a fabulous pudding.

In short, she is Sucking Up Big Time.

“What will you do when he says no?” I ask.

“Beg.”.

“And when he still says no?”

“Beg.”

“And when he still says no?”

“Beg.”

“And when he still says no?”

“Scream that he is ruining my life and strop up to my room all evening.” She taps the side of her nose and winks. “See? I have a game plan.”

Ka-Boom

2009-12-12T19:22:00.001Z

Himself borrowed my car… my beloved, almost new car… and it wouldn’t start for him. Leaving it outside the hospital all week had obviously done the battery no favours. He grabbed a mate, bought some cheap jump leads and tried to jump it. Mate’s Jeep Cherokee and our Voyager. Put the leads on, started the engine and WHOOSH. Flames. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. Pull the leads off quickly before the cars themselves go up.

Himself called me. “Mate put the leads on wrong. Sigh.”

Mate drove back to me. “Himself put the leads on wrong. Sigh.”

Called out Green Flag (and boo-yah to those who told me I’d made the biggest mistake going with them this year, they turned up in twenty minutes and had him back on the road in a few minutes more. Hah.) Green Flag laughed himself almost sick. He said that the two powerful cars and the cheap leads had been a recipe for disaster, the surge of the engine had simply ripped through the thin leads. Oh well. At least it stopped Himself and Mate blaming each other to me.

Himself drove my car back to me. Hurrumph. I took great pleasure in pointing out the Heavy Duty jump leads in the boot….

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Babe has finished the Augmentin and has started on the prophylactic antibiotics. So far so good. Fingers crossed no more infections!

UTI

2009-12-05T13:15:00.001Z

When you have a baby you always think you’ll remember everything. You’ll remember their first step, their first word, their first laugh, their first tooth. I’m here to tell you, you won’t. Even the really important stuff, you won’t remember. Write it down!

That’s what I use this blog for, an aide-memoire, hence this entry which is more for me than you. You just get to share it, lucky you!

So. Babe has been ill off and on since September. She has seen the doctor on 4 separate occasions – 24th Sept, 22nd Oct, 23rd Nov and 2nd Dec. All with exactly the same problem – soaring temperature, shaking, throwing up, and pain in her stomach. All showing positive on urine dip test for nitrates, leukocytes etc but only one culture actually positive. All treated with antibiotics – Trimethoprim first, then two lots of Cephalexin and then Augmentin.

2nd December, she was seen at one of her worst points. She was shaking (rigors), almost unconscious and boiling hot – around 39.7c. They gave her Nurofen and admitted her to hospital. Once she got there, the meds kicked in, her temp dropped and she was racing around playing. Sigh. They had to wait for the Nurofen to wear off so they could see her at the “bad” stage. So a few hours later, again with the rigors, temperature in the 39s and so on.

At this point they needed to take a blood culture, so I held her up, as she threw up on one side and they inserted a needle in the other. She screamed, just once, as the needle went in…

Babe stayed in hospital for three days, on IV Augmentin, trying to get her temperature stabilised. Her highest ever temp is 41.3c and she didn’t get close to that this time, thankfully. She whimpered slightly as they did the antibiotics but was otherwise a star patient the entire time.

She’s had a scan on her kidneys, bladder, liver, pancreas and spleen and she is physically fine inside. No abnormalities, no Polycystic Disease. They are muttering about upper UTI now – pyelonephritis, a kidney infection - rather than a lower UTI like cystitis. She’s home now, with oral Augmentin and we go back in two weeks to attend the UTI clinic.

My sister Sharon’s primary cause of death on her death certificate? Pyelonephritis.

Cheap Xmas Ideas

2009-11-29T16:38:00.001Z

I’m looking at my children who are currently co-operating in an unheard of fashion. Things One and Two wanted to play the Wii but were bickering about who went first and for how long. I confiscated the remote until they could work out by themselves how to play fairly. So they now are sitting with the kitchen timer, one timing and one playing, co-operating and supporting and laughing. Hmm.

So, Xmas Idea One: a timer.

The Babe on the other hand, has somehow found the Lazy Susan and is taking turns with her teddies to play on the “roundabout”. She sits on it and spin around and then teddy sits on while she pushes it around.

Xmas Idea Two: a lazy susan.

Coming soon! Ideas with old newspapers and boxes, and how to return everything you bought for Store Credit!

Count to Ten

2009-11-25T19:50:00.001Z

Every time I start to think Thing One is vaguely normal, she demonstrates just why she got landed with the ASD label.

T’other day we parked our car outside a neighbour’s house. Maybe “neighbour” is a bit of a stretch but they do technically live on the same street even if they do live at the other end of it. Thing One glanced at the house.

“That’s 13” she stated. I glanced over. No, it isn’t. It’s 48.

“Not the house number. Just the number!” she sighed.

I obviously looked confused.

“This is a 13. That’s a 12. We live in an 11. That’s a 12, and that one, that one over there is a 13, this one is just a 9….

She has categorized... and memorised… every house in the street. According to the number of visible panes of glass.

Ok then!

And just to prove to us that she isn’t weird, she later admitted to counting:
1. The number of door handle screws in the house.
2. How many patterns in the wallpaper.
3. How many indents in the radiator.
4. The raised bumps on the bathroom stool.
5. The dots on our placemats.
6. The colours in her bedroom (She can’t match Phoebe’s 66…)

At least now I don’t just think she is a bit strange.

Procrastination

2009-11-18T17:43:00.001Z

I am seriously considering changing my name by Deed Poll to “Will You Just Get On With It Already”. Wygowia for short. All month I’ve been MEANING to swing by, but… you know. Busy, busy, busy. Or, not busy but lazy. One of those.

I just looked back at last November and not much has changed anyway. Guy Fawkes? Check. Birthday? Check. Colposcopy? Dammit, check (it’s tomorrow, eek). Hell, I’ve even had a haircut and been to the dentist. I feel like Groundhog Year just happened.

Fireworks!

Thing Two had a parents evening at school. I cried. Sniffle. The teacher used every superlative in the book and then some. Apparently my daughter is reliable, friendly, responsible, neat, intelligent and – QUOTE! - “I wish my own daughter could be like her”. So proud.

On the other hand. Thing One took part in a group dance competition at school. Inter college thing. She’s been AWOL most of the term with late nights and early starts for rehearsals. The competition was today. She didn’t text me the result, so I knew her team had either done spectacularly well or abysmally poor. I’m not allowed to tell you where she placed but here’s a hint. She didn’t win… Heh.

Happy Tenth Birthday Thing Two!

2009-11-18T17:28:00.001Z

Double figures now, Sweetie. And no broken arm this year, woohoo!

Imagination

2009-10-30T19:59:00.001Z

Himself shook Tabasco over his Chilli, since I make it mild for the children. The Babe wanted to try it, so he did the adult trick of shaking the capped bottle vaguely over her plate. Satisfied, she took a huge mouthful.

And gagged. Cried. Started to pant. “Is too hot!”

So I passed my hand over her plate to “remove” the spices. “Phew. Thanks Mummy, that’s better!” And she continued to eat.

I shook my hand. Thing Two cried “Careful, Mum, don’t fling the Tabasco on the floor the dog will eat it and get sick!”

Methinks both of them have a little too much imagination…

Toof-hurty

2009-10-19T23:53:00.001+01:00

It ain’t no better, neither.* Apparently I have something called Dry Socket, which I think is Latin for OMFG-IT-HURTS-IT-HURTS-IT-HURTS". I also have an ulcer right on the tip of my tongue, which comes under the header “Kick Me While I’m Down”.

However, I have realised – belatedly, I know – that chocolate could well be included in the “mush” category of food. This is good. Obviously. I have had a slight chocolate addiction ever since I developed hormones and will happily self-medicate with it at a push. Gentle shove. Nudge. Heck, just look at me!

Ally mentioned today that she is also addicted to chocolate. This didn’t surprise me. I actually assumed all sane, rational women were. Otherwise we wouldn’t be sane or rational.

And especially not sane or rational when in pain. Oh my tooth… gap… hole thingy. I need another Flake to make myself feel better…

*So if a double negative is a positive, a triple negative is… ?**

**This one is here for no reason. I just missed my footnotes. So, how’ve you been?

Hole Not Whole

2009-10-10T23:56:00.001+01:00

So. Anyway. Okay.

This? Became a nightmare of epic proportions. Sadist did try and do that root canal but couldn’t access the front root. So having gone through the whole drilling and pulling out root thing, Sadist had to resort to yanking. Except yanking became breaking, became cutting, became levering, became foot on chair, sweating, shaking hell on Earth.

I thought it was strange when the dental nurse offered me a mirror and a wet cloth afterwards until I looked in the mirror and had to wash bits of gum out of my eyes. Blood everywhere. Bits of shattered tooth and gum everywhere. Texas chainsaw massacre had nothing on me.

I’m living on painkillers and Heinz mush. I have regressed to childhood and am eating tomato soup with white bread soaked in and tinned spaghetti – which is actually pretty yummy. No idea why I grew up and stopped eating them. I’m getting zero sympathy but lots of voyeuristic “show us the hole then, eeuurrggghh that’s gross”.

And I just want to say I told you so. I told you dental work was terrifying. Now do you believe me??

Happy Birthday!

2009-10-05T21:34:00.002+01:00

Happy Third Birthday, Munchkin. Love you always.

"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be."
Robert Munsch

When you grow up

2009-10-01T20:13:00.001+01:00

Random adult: What do you want to be when you grow up?
Babe: Bigger.

Random Adult: And what do you want to be when you grow up?
Flower: A princess.
RA: And how do you become a princess?
Flower: Marry a king.
RA: And what do princesses do all day?
Flower: Dance.
RA: Oh. Got this sussed, haven’t you?
Flower: I get to shop too.

Gah!

2009-09-30T18:18:00.001+01:00

As usual, I go to the Primary School to collect Thing Two. I wander blithely into the playground to be met by a confused smile from Fay.

“Why are you here??” she asks.

Oh. I arranged for Thing Two to be collected by Fay to play with her children after school, didn’t I? I don’t actually need to be at school, do I? The worst thing is, I do this every time. I’m a ditz. Grrr.

Oh well. I’ll go to the Senior School to collect Thing One from her after school club (who is currently grounded and getting collected from clubs instead of sauntering home when she feels like it). I’m a bit early, but I can just wait outside, it’s a nice day.

I arrive. Find a spot to settle. Settle down. Flick through a magazine. My phone buzzes with a text (currently the Boing Boing song from Dora the Explorer.) (What’s wrong with that??) from Thing One. “Club cancelled. On bus home.”

Oh.

Aaarrgghh.

I just wasted an hour trailing around schools. I am a numpty.

Horseshoe!

2009-09-27T14:21:00.001+01:00

That is The Babe, lying on my bed this morning, feigning sleep. She lay there, eyes closed, snoring “horseshoe”. Really. “Horse-shoooe”. Try it.

She’s had One Of Those Weeks, actually. I have mentioned her ability to rival Vesuvius… several times… since she decides any illness, no matter how mild, is no fun without a fever. So she topped the forties again. We got very little sleep, so come Sunday morning we just wanted a little snooze, a little lie-in, with her giggling “horse-shoe” between us. Sigh.

The Babe has been coming to work with me recently. I work in a pre-school so it is a lot of fun for her. Her best friend, Flower, also started Nursery School this term.

Flower: Babe, what’s your teacher called?
Babe: Mummy.
Flower: No.. your TEACHER. Who is your teacher?
Babe: MY MUM.
Flower: Noooo! Sigh. Mydonna, who is Babe’s teacher?
Me: I am.

Flower is absolutely disgusted that we don’t appear to know the difference between mummies and teachers.

I can’t think of a title

2009-09-22T23:56:00.001+01:00

Thursday we had guests for dinner. Kid guests, so pizza and salad type dinner. Buy pizzas, add toppings, chuck in oven type dinner. When you smell burning, open oven door, have it fall off in your hand type dinner.

Yes. The oven door. Fell off into my hand. Fell. Hot door. My hand. Yes.

Unbelievable.

Now I have a shiny new oven, hurrah!

Have you all noticed something by the way? That I only ever get shiny new when old and crappy finally falls apart? I never get shiny new just for the sake of shiny new. Hmm. I should complain about this to whoever controls the Budget. Which would be me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, I took my tired old teeth to the dentist again. He’s been working on my impacted wisdom teeth, and I had an owie bit. He poked. He prodded. It wasn’t my wisdom tooth. The owie is another tooth. I have to have a root canal.

I’m scared of dental work, by the way. (I used to be scared of dentists but an old classmate is a dentist and he isn’t scary so I can’t be scared of him. I’m just scared of what he does). The idea of dental work... especially something as horrifyingly scary as a root canal… is a tad “worrying”.

Well, he said. I can always just yank it out instead.

I’m not even forty yet, am I not a bit young to lose my teeth? The lily-livered majority of me is leaning very heavily toward the yank it option. The tiny bit of rationality in me knows I have to do the unthinkable, but whoo boy. Very scared.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

To keep things in perspective though, an update. Thomas has started his chemotherapy. He is fighting every step of the way. Fighting taking the medicine I mean, poor kid. He’s still in hospital but they are hoping to at least visit home one day this week or next week. Keep on sending those good thoughts and vibes, people, please.

Thoughts, prayers, good vibes

2009-09-16T16:52:00.001+01:00

On Thursday, a little boy looked a bit peaky at school. He still looked not quite himself on Friday morning so his mum took him to the doctor… who sent him to hospital… who sent him to a big city hospital. And less than a week later, they have the results. This perfect little boy, who just looked a bit peaky, has leukaemia.

I can’t imagine how this family feels. I can’t imagine the shock, the terror, the panic. I can’t put myself in that situation. All I can do is pray for them.

Please, whatever Deity you believe in, pray for this little boy. Or if you don’t believe in that, then send him your thoughts and vibes. His name is Thomas and he is just six years old.

Circus

2009-09-11T14:20:00.001+01:00

Took the offspring to “The Greatest Show On Earth” (TM) last night. The older two go most years, but this was The Babe’s first time. She loved it, right up to Intermission when “Me go home now, me tired, let’s go now. Now. Now peeeeeaaaase.” Then Pedro the Clown came on and she laughed so much the entire Big Top resounded with toddler giggles. Thank you Pedro!

At one point, the entire ring went black. A shadow appeared and a single spotlight illuminated the Man in Black. Black leather trenchcoat, chains on his black trousers and tight fitting black shirt displaying his rippling six pack. Like the hunkiest Matrix actor. He brooded between his lashes at us, and then a small white ball appeared in his hand. Anticipation. Is he a magician? A daredevil? What is about to happen? And then he bounced his little ball. You’re kidding. Matrix hunk’s show is BOUNCY BALLS??? Funniest (even though admittedly very skilful) thing ever.

We also bought some candyfloss. The Babe: “Me try it! Not want yours! Me want my OWN!” I pulled a small piece of the stick and offered it to her. “Euurgghhh, no, it’s FLUFF! It’s HAIR! It’s DISGUSTING!” Don’t want your own anymore, huh? She still mentioned it this morning and still thinks we are gross for eating hairy fluff.

(Ouch - kitten just fell backwards off my lap, digging his claws in to try and save himself. My leg is bleeding. Going now. Owww.)

9.9.9

2009-09-09T18:41:00.001+01:00

Today was declared to be A Day Without Cats. The notion seemed to originate over on Urlesque, but was quickly taken up by many other sites who think today – just for one day – we should ban images of cats, mention of cats, and purrfect puns relating to cats.

And of course, I will bow to the will of those Oppressors and support No Cat Day, by not using the word cat in my blog at all, on this, No Cat Day. I shall save the pictures and tales of my kittens to next Caturday.

=^..^=

Back to School

2009-09-09T10:27:00.001+01:00

Well, that’s a very quick seven weeks over, innit? And, bizarrely it piddled down from the very last day to the very first day – or so it seemed anyway. And on Monday the sun came out and it’s been glorious ever since. Now I’m not saying that the weather has a Freudian twist to it, but Someone Up There seems to have a very dark sense of humour!

Naturally, Thing Two has already lost her school cardigan. Naturally, Thing One got lost finding her classrooms. Naturally, Thing Three aka The Babe has whinged constantly that she wants to go to school. And naturally, I’ve been revelling in the freedom of fewer kids and have accomplished absolutely nothing this week.

Copycat?

2009-09-08T16:55:00.001+01:00

I have a kitten who thinks he is a parrot.

By which I mean, obviously, that he likes to sit on my shoulder. Not that he repeats everything I say. Cats can’t talk. You know that. I know that. Ally, on the other hand….

When I mentioned last night that kitten thought he was a parrot, Posh understood straight away. Ally on the other hand – and I quote - “had images of a cat mimicking you”.

Seriously, Ally. Cats don’t talk!

The Odd One Out?

2009-08-20T15:56:00.001+01:00

The Babe Stories

2009-08-19T15:06:00.002+01:00

Madam is standing in front of me. She rings an imaginary bell.
“Ding Dong.”
“Who is it?”
”Trick or Treat” she cries.
”Oh, trick please.”
She stops, dumbfounded and confused. I laugh and try and explain…
”It’s trick or treat, honey”.
”Yes. Treat please!” She says smugly….

(Blame Nickelodeon and out of date programming for this one.)

I was reading a blog a week or so ago and chuckled at a specific antic. Blow me if The Babe didn’t do the exact same thing the other day…. She was colouring on orange paper with her crayons. She picked up the orange crayon, scribbled on the paper, stopped, looked at the crayon, scribbled again. Stopped. Looked at crayon.
“Is broken!”

This photo... I have no words. She doesn’t look too impressed either. Thing One’s attempt at… a face-painted creature of some description although I have no idea what.

Yeah.

Moving on…

Thing One has a new game with The Babe. We have a jewelled hairband, very pretty, belongs to Thing Two. The Babe thinks it is a crown and she is princess. Except if anyone else wears it, they are suddenly promoted to the Queen. The Babe will look... bow deeply... "Your Mas-jest-ey!"

Surviving Summer!

2009-08-08T21:42:00.001+01:00

“There’s 51 days of summer vacation,
Then school comes along just to save your mother’s sanity…”

(Oh dear god... how would I cope with double that??)

When I was a kid, summer holidays were a time of joy. Of leaving the house after breakfast and not getting home until dinner time, grubby, sweaty and tired. Spending days paddling in creeks – created by leaving a hose on – riding bikes across dried out grass, watching the heat shimmers on the tarmac, climbing hills just to roll down them, building dens and swings and starting wars with the kids on the next estate which involve cunning strategies yet never actually came to bloodshed because we found other mischief to create.

Summer holidays now seem to be an endless whine. Constant “I’m bored”, and squabbling and tale-telling and whinging and a constant need for attention and instant gratification. It can drive you insane before the first week is out so you need coping mechanisms in place before that final bell goes.

1. Plan Ahead. Get loads of leaflets about fun days out, mix in some cheap educational stuff with the expensive mind-numbing stuff. Arrange them in order of preference. Then let your eldest child arrange them in order of preference. Then middle child. And so on down the line. Teach them compromise. This can take up to a week if you string it out carefully and get enough leaflets. Then ground everyone and bin the leaflets and save yourself a fortune.

2. Use What You Have. There is so much fun to be had in a home if you just use a little imagination. A cardboard box can be used a thousand ways – try letting them use it to clean their closets or under their beds. Let them collect all the dust bunnies and make a super giant bunny. Give them a toothbrush and a bucket of water and let them weed and clean the patio. Open your mind, it is amazing what you’ll come up with.

3. The Sound of Music. All those voices lifted in chorus together. Screaming and shouting, crying and whinging. You can even add some percussion with the slamming of doors and the throwing of soft toys.

4. Encourage Independence. Throw a packet of cereal at them and retreat to your room clutching a giant Dairy Milk. Barricade the doors. Ignore any and all squeals of outrage. Make sure you have first furnished your room for your needs – books, TV, telephone and laptop.

5. Hang In There. It’s only seven weeks. You can do it! Just think how much stronger you will be at the end of it. If you can survive this, you can do anything!

Camp Rock

2009-08-05T00:03:00.001+01:00

We did try that “sleeping in a field” thing again, and… it wasn’t that bad actually. The Babe had to stay in the car until we were set up so she didn’t trip on the ropes again, the dog went to kennels, we checked the weather forecast and we used nice new tent.

Camp

Sunny and warm, we camped next to a river which the girls adored, we stayed up late drinking tea (!) and playing charades (!!) and we all agreed that, okay, we could tolerate this roughing it deal. The only bad thing was the cold when we went to bed, but more experienced campers have pointed out my errors so hopefully next time we go my face won’t freeze so bad I can feel my own breath. I may just take a balaclava just in case. That wouldn’t be weird, right? Me stumbling to the loo blocks in the middle of the night in pjs, jumper, wellies and balaclava…?

Rock. Snerk.

The next trip is already booked!

Photos!

2009-08-02T14:20:00.001+01:00

Yes we have two cats… here’s the other one…

The Babe loves the kittens… but loves her bed more. If they won’t move, she’s sleeping anyway.

This post has nothing to do with the fact that I have nothing of interest to say at all. Sigh.

Klutz

2009-07-23T22:36:00.001+01:00

In answer to yesterday’s question – Yes. Yes it is. And here is the proof.

Now okay, it’s almost impossible to see. But if you squint and turn your head sideways you can just see the bruising and swelling on the right (her left). They have no idea if it is actually broken, because of the swelling, but it is possible apparently. Marvellous.

Oh, and this is her “See my smile, Mumma, is orange!”

Now you may notice a slight difference in the tone here, compared to last year’s rather hysterical post. That is because I have decided that my children are totally and utterly clumsy and accident-prone and there is no point getting upset at each and every bump anymore. I have no idea where they get this trait from – it must be Himself’s influence.

In other news, today for dinner we had baked potatoes. I washed and scrubbed them, threw them on a tray and proceeded to merrily stab each one with wilful glee. As you do. Raise arm and swoop down to STAB. And AGAIN. And AGAIN… and oh my that smarts a little, and look I have stabbed my thumb and the knife is stuck tip first in the bone and oh wow that really hurts now….

I am not a klutz.

Glutton for Punishment

2009-07-23T01:57:00.001+01:00

“Anyone who decides to sleep in a field of their own free will is crazy”. Seriously.

I have a perfectly nice house. It’s a bit messy, but it has walls and a roof and central heating and a kitchen and wifi and several thousand books. So why did I agree to sleep in a field with sheep baa-ing over the river at me?

I’d say camping was Hell, except at least Hell is warm and dry. The rain was horrific, not least when we were wading through a couple of centimetres of puddle inside!

The dog thought we were loons and every time someone unzipped the “door” he darted out to sit next to the car. “Come on people, you’ve had your joke. I’ll be nice to the kittens if you take me home now.”

And The Babe tripped on a guy rope, fell forward to the next getting a nice rope burn on her throat and bashed her face. Blood everywhere. Today her nose is doubled in size and is bruised all the way up to her eyes. Is it even possible for a child to break their nose?

I have to admit… the tent ended up at the tip this morning. Never, never again.

Not in that tent anyway. I bought a nice new one this afternoon…

The Last Day…

2009-07-18T00:41:00.001+01:00

… of school. And it RAINED! Even the weather is upset. Seven weeks. Oh dear lord. Seven weeks.

As for the rain. It may interest you to know there was some sort of seagull paddling in my street today. No, I don’t leave near the seaside. No, I don’t live near a stream or river. But there was a gull. Paddling. In. The. Street.

I’ve had such a productive few days. I have cleared an old office at work, which was chest high with crap, to turn it into a sitting room. Somewhere for everyone to have lunch, have meetings in comfort, for the kids to play in. I threw away, amongst others, a huge desk, three computers, a laptop, a giant TV, 3 pairs of curtains, about ten miles of assorted wiring, two stereos, sixteen video cassettes, 3000 payslip envelopes, two tents, 150 old price lists, 1997's Argos catalogue, a magazine from 1991.... You get the idea. I did have to chase Himself around to stop him grabbing rubbish and hiding it to keep. Like that magazine from 1991. Seriously. Man, that guy can hoard. If I die first he is going to become one of those men who have to dig through piles of tat just to get to the bed!

Anyway, there is now a lovely empty room, ready to decorate and furnish. Thing One has asked if she and her friends can do it. We give her a budget and just leave her to it. Ha. I said no. She said “The summer holidays start tomorrow. I give it 3 days before you change your mind just to get rid of us”.

I’m already considering it….

Just One More?

2009-07-13T00:04:00.001+01:00

One great thing about the End of Year at school is reading reports, attending Award Ceremonies, and all the fun days they plan to reward students for their hard work. (In an ideal world, anyway).

Sometimes I do get a teensy bit put out with the lack of warning given (Hey, come see your kid this week, we don’t care about your childcare or work or whatever, just drop everything and come dance attendance. Oh and whip up a fabulous costume overnight while you are at it, and bake us a dozen fairy cakes….) Cough. Sorry. Bit of bile there.

Here is Thing Two, at a multi-cultural day. We were aiming for the idea in the small insert, and I don’t think we did that badly…. Doesn’t she look great?

Earlier in the week, she’d also participated in a Music Recital. Now, the last time I heard Thing Two play the recorder she was massacring the scales, reaching notes that made the dog come to heel for the first time in his life. It was painful. So at the assembly, I sat gamely, squaring my shoulders, fixing my proud maternal smile in place and prepared to applaud my daughter regardless of what she actually did.

And she blew me away. I couldn’t even take a picture, never mind record it. She played, beautifully, Jazzmania, My Heart Will Go On and Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. My girl. She did so good.

Brag Post

2009-07-07T12:44:00.001+01:00

I don’t do these often but sometimes you just have to! As you know, Thing One was nominated for an award at her school. She was scared and unhappy and so, so heartbroken at leaving her friends to go to Secondary School, but she settled in and made new friends and we are very proud of her.

The school called an assembly today to hand out awards to all the Year Seven’s who had excelled in one form or another. Thing One was awarded….

Drum Roll…..

Positive Attitude to Learning

Yr 7 Achievement in Science

Yr 7 Top Achiever in Maths

Baby, I am so proud of you, and so happy that you are happy.

Homework

2009-07-05T20:34:00.001+01:00

A car of mass 900kg has an engine which exerts a force of 450N on the car. How long does the car take to accelerate from 0-10m/s?

Please finish the page, and see me. Detention for anyone who fails to understand and thus doesn’t hand in their homework. I have explained it once, it isn’t my fault if you weren’t listening, now please get on with it.

Did I Blink?

2009-07-01T18:00:00.001+01:00

When did this happen? Seriously? Brushing all the clichés aside about how quickly they grow up, yadda yadda yadda… I swear last time I looked she wasn’t this grown up, nor this beautiful.

Oh Boy…

Kittens!

2009-06-29T21:27:00.003+01:00

Aren’t they sweet? We did end up with another, the little boy on the left is Tizer, and his sister on the right is Tab. No, I didn’t name them. Sigh.

They are recovering well, although they are very young, only around five weeks. They did start off being syringe fed, and then finger fed, but they picked up lapping from a bowl really quickly. They hate their medicines, and spit at us when we give them, but are otherwise very tame. Tizer in particular is very affectionate and playful so far.

All Three are the Charm

2009-06-27T10:05:00.001+01:00

Thursday: The car. Finally. We bought a new car. We’ve only been looking for three months! However we found a car that fits all my requirements – especially that “made by Chrysler” thing - and it’s like driving a monster truck! Still, nice to have a reliable car so we can get away for weekends again.

Friday: Except we can’t. Get away for weekends I mean. Because last night we had a new arrival – and in all likelihood today we will be getting another! Unnamed, very poorly and very very young…

Here he is. Aww!

Name suggestions welcome please. Thing Two suggested Lolly and Pop. Thing One suggested Fish and Chips. Both are being ignored.

Saturday: Got back from taking poorly kitten to vet just now, and found a letter from Thing One’s school. Any parent with older children know The Fear these things bring, so I ripped it open and… she’s been nominated for an award. Oh my… {sniffle}…. am so proud.. can’t speak….

Arrogance

2009-06-23T19:04:00.001+01:00

What do I hate the most?

Well yes, okay, moths rank up there quite highly.

Yes, fine, I detest rudeness.

Counting years… yes, that too.

But above all else, what makes me the most uncomfortable? Yes, you in the fuchsia? Talking about myself, right! And right now I am having to write 100 words about myself for a charity. It is taking forever. I’m on sentence two, which has been re-written 16 times already. Sentence one needs polishing too.

Why am I labouring this so much? I can witter on mindlessly here. Why can’t I do the same THERE? I’ve actually come here... to talk about myself, natch… as light relief. The thing is, you see, is that this has to be a positive piece and who in hell is comfortable bragging about themselves? I can do self deprecating as easily as breathing. Belittling is easy. Commendation… well isn’t that just a touch conceited?

There’s a reason I work for myself you know. I can’t write my own C.V. either (resume for those of you on the wrong side of the pond). Sigh.

Weird?

2009-06-20T09:58:00.001+01:00

It was my 13th Wedding Anniversary this week. Bleurgh. We tend not to actually celebrate our anniversary as much as use it as a pawn in our constant one-upmanship. So, if one of us happens to remember – unlikely, since we aren’t actually sure of the date and have to look it up, but it has happened – we hug it to ourselves like a delicious secret, with the sure knowledge that we know something and our opponent doesn’t.

This year, I remembered. I waited all day listening to the sound of his silence on the subject. Later in the evening I slipped out and bought some flowers and chocolates. Gave them to him with a flourish – Happy Anniversary Darling, I cry, with an expectant look on my face. He fumbles. It is joy to watch. He completely forgot and I wrong-footed him.

I win!

Ally thinks I am a bit weird to be happy that he forgot our anniversary. I think she can’t have been married long enough to realise the skill required to outmanoeuvre your opponent. She doesn’t think her husband is her opponent. I say HAH!

She also thinks I am a bit weird because of this:

This is my arm, the day after donating blood. I have given blood lots of times and I have never bruised. I have had innumerable blood tests. I don’t bruise. This butcher got hold of me and that bruise is huge and sore and it is so COOL!!!!!!!!!!

Thankfully it is t-shirt weather and I get to show it off.

That isn’t weird, right?