1efdzzrrtrgtfcccxz x cvdsxzzzza76tyytffgvddxxd65t6yt7onmgtyfnmq i7 uyuYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYu UuuuuuUUuUIIUaKIUkj,k
That is Sweetpea’s contribution to this entry- and a mighty fine contribution it is. My only snarl at her is that she was doing it whilst I was out of the room. I will tear her limb from limb if she breaks my new computer, cheeky little bugger. She knows she isn’t allowed to touch the computer but she couldn’t help herself. Note to self: if you have another child, do not teach them to open doors to get into rooms by themselves, in fact, do not teach them anything. Let them lie quietly in a corner and only move when I move them! (How Fraudian is this, I typed “l”ove instead of “m”ove?)
The past week I had a stomach bug from hell, and better yet, the Matriach and my aunt had it at the same time. Seriously, as I hugged my big green bucket and hurled yet again, I thought that the pain in my gut I felt in labour was easier than what I was going through; the throwing up continued for 12 hours – a very long time, and I never throw up. I can be nauseated to all hell, but I never throw up. I started throwing up at 5am and I couldn’t hold water down until around 10:45pm. Now I’ve been sick and still had to look after Sweetpea before, but Tuesday was one out of the box. I lay in bed and hoped that I would die. I didn’t even really know what Sweetpea was getting up to – but I found out the day after. Whilst I was wishing my life away, Sweetpea was pulling out every item of clothing from her drawers, she was opening tubes of shoe polish and squeezing them over everything, she was pulling books apart, she was a nightmare. Lordy, I wanted to die on Tuesday, but I'm pretty sure it was Sweetpea who wanted to die on Wednesday, each and every time I discovered a new mess to clear up. Now I was still pretty iffy with my tummy on Wednesday, but the Matriarch and aunt were chowing down on KFC Wednesday night. I could hardly keep an apple down, and they were hoeing into burgers and wraps and chips and gaaaaag. Just the smell was enough to send me scurrying back to my big green bucket! It wasn’t until Saturday that I woke up and thought ‘Hey! I think I feel better!” Trust me when I tell you that you DONT want to catch the tummy bug that is going around. If you hear people saying anything about it, run away- fast!
But in the midst of dying on Tuesday something pretty amazing happened. Sweetpea was lying next to me and pointed to a photo I have of her on the wall. Then she pointed to herself and said “Seetpea”. She has started saying her name. OK. This might not sound like a big deal to you, but to me, it was magical. Its not that she doesn’t know her own name, but to hear her say it, “Seetpea” sent sighs of happiness all over me. She is starting to give me three word sentences now, her favourites being “I got it!” and “Mummy do it!” and the good old standby of “Me do!” can be heard all over the house still. She climbs into the bathtub and she can clamber up on the toilet to do peescor all by herself. I'm pretty sure that by summer she is going to be out of nappies.... yippie! She still snuggled up against me as she falls asleep at night and in the morning she will wiggle into my arms and suck on a bottle of milk contentedly. Yes, I know I should have broken her of the bottle by now, but she just loves it so, and I swear that if I take the bottles away she refuses to drink for the day. If I have the bottles around, she will drink out of cups, but take the bottles away, and wham! No drinkies for missy. And I figure that soon enough she will make the connection herself (like she has with the whole toilet training deal) that she doesn’t want to drink out of a bottle and that will be it. No more baby.
And speaking of no more baby, as Sweetpea sits on the toilet she has had ample time to really study my pink stripe of hair, to the point she was asking constantly “Pink please” as she pointed to her hair. So now guess whose child has her own stripe of pink? Of course,(leave out the O and you get curse) my mother was outraged and said that I was mad and a bad mother and that for someone who was so afraid of having her child snatched at the mall I was making her a prime target. By having pink hair? Yes, because that proves that I don’t take notice of my child and keep my eyes on her. I'm too worried about pink hair. “Yeah right, bullshite mother. “
Sweetpea, for the record, is very proud of her pink hair. And no, there was no bleach involved, what do you take me for? A bad mother?
Showing posts with label Family Madness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family Madness. Show all posts
Monday, September 10, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
You Can Hire Me
So the ultrasound results are in. Yes, its already the half way mark of SisterLaw’s pregnancy and today she and SpikyMan went to have the big ultrasound in which generally the doctors want to know the size and measurements of every internal organ in the body of the unborn child and generally the parents want to know what the sex of their child is.
It’s a girl.
It just about ripped my heart out. Until this point I've been so sure it was a boy and I could cope with my jealousy, because, well truthfully, I would love another daughter. And boys run strongly in SpikyMan’s family. We were all so sure it was going to be a boy, but it’s a girl. SisterLaw and SpikyMan are having a daughter. I did cry when The Matriarch mouthed the words “It’s a girl” and pointed to Sweetpea. I was so shocked. I was sure it was a boy.
But that wasn’t the last of the big news events for my sister today. Oh no.
My sister was offered a new job today and starts for a bigger law firm that came and head hunted her in four weeks time.
“What are you going to do with the baby? How long will you have for maternity leave?” I asked.
“Well the company has several mothers who work part time and they are more than happy for me to do the same.”
“Yes, but how long will you get with your baby?”
“Oh about four or five months. I guess I will have to look into childcare centres.”
“Oh no.” I replied, because, what else can you say in that situation?
I could hear a small quiver of sadness in her voice, but much like her, I understood that this company had made an incredible offer that really, wouldn’t come up again and she had to grab it with both hands. We talked about childcare for a few more minutes and I was sure of her hesitation about putting her child into care.
“You can hire me.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I allowed my self-censoring to stop them.
“What?”
“You can hire me. You can hire me,” pause, “you can hire me.”
I cant even begin to tell you the courage that took to say, even though at first I said it in jest. Because with SpikyMan being a bit of a control freak, generally anything I suggest to SisterLaw is rejected by him and my offers to help with almost anything are rebuffed. But I forget that even though this child is only 20 weeks old, SisterLaw has already turned into a Mama Bear and a Wild Tiger ready to protect her young from any threat – even the threat of disapproval from a control freak.
“You can hire me. I could do with the extra money and you know that I would look after your daughter the same way that I look after Sweetpea, and you cant ever really be sure that in a child care centre they can give the one to one time that I could give her. And maybe on the days you don't work, you could look after Sweetpea and I could work a couple of days teaching. You could hire me.”
“Can I admit that I wanted to ask you that desperately, but I didn’t want to cross the line and I didn’t know when the right time would be to ask if you would look after my baby?”
“You can hire me.”
Of course, it’s a long way until April next year, so time will tell if this works out, but there it is. I have a niece.
It’s a girl.
It just about ripped my heart out. Until this point I've been so sure it was a boy and I could cope with my jealousy, because, well truthfully, I would love another daughter. And boys run strongly in SpikyMan’s family. We were all so sure it was going to be a boy, but it’s a girl. SisterLaw and SpikyMan are having a daughter. I did cry when The Matriarch mouthed the words “It’s a girl” and pointed to Sweetpea. I was so shocked. I was sure it was a boy.
But that wasn’t the last of the big news events for my sister today. Oh no.
My sister was offered a new job today and starts for a bigger law firm that came and head hunted her in four weeks time.
“What are you going to do with the baby? How long will you have for maternity leave?” I asked.
“Well the company has several mothers who work part time and they are more than happy for me to do the same.”
“Yes, but how long will you get with your baby?”
“Oh about four or five months. I guess I will have to look into childcare centres.”
“Oh no.” I replied, because, what else can you say in that situation?
I could hear a small quiver of sadness in her voice, but much like her, I understood that this company had made an incredible offer that really, wouldn’t come up again and she had to grab it with both hands. We talked about childcare for a few more minutes and I was sure of her hesitation about putting her child into care.
“You can hire me.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I allowed my self-censoring to stop them.
“What?”
“You can hire me. You can hire me,” pause, “you can hire me.”
I cant even begin to tell you the courage that took to say, even though at first I said it in jest. Because with SpikyMan being a bit of a control freak, generally anything I suggest to SisterLaw is rejected by him and my offers to help with almost anything are rebuffed. But I forget that even though this child is only 20 weeks old, SisterLaw has already turned into a Mama Bear and a Wild Tiger ready to protect her young from any threat – even the threat of disapproval from a control freak.
“You can hire me. I could do with the extra money and you know that I would look after your daughter the same way that I look after Sweetpea, and you cant ever really be sure that in a child care centre they can give the one to one time that I could give her. And maybe on the days you don't work, you could look after Sweetpea and I could work a couple of days teaching. You could hire me.”
“Can I admit that I wanted to ask you that desperately, but I didn’t want to cross the line and I didn’t know when the right time would be to ask if you would look after my baby?”
“You can hire me.”
Of course, it’s a long way until April next year, so time will tell if this works out, but there it is. I have a niece.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
More Diary than Blog - Meandering Thoughts
Its strange what hits you emotionally sometimes. Tonight I realised that I had 6 white Christmas’ and that I wish I had treasured them more. I thought I was going to have the rest of my lifetime of white Christmas’, but I only had 6 and that realisation has reduced me to tears. I so desperately miss my life in Canada. Who would have thought that possible?
I got the official offer (and congratulations) letter from the university today – finally. The sad part is that I don't feel like opening the bottle of champagne to celebrate. I just want to curl up and cry a bit more. I'm exhausted just thinking about what subject(s) I am going to study the next semester. The subjects of offer are a wee bit (read extremely) boring but I have to get this fourth year out of the way. Ugh. I wish I hadn’t accepted that teaching job straight out of third year and opted instead to complete the forth year way back when dinosaurs walked the earth and I was in university for the first time.
I've been baking like a mad woman lately. All kinds of slices and biscuits to be exact, although I did make a flourless chocolate cake for one of mum’s friends who is allergic to wheat. I have discovered the most Devine chocy fudge biscuit that had over 500g (almost two pounds) of three different types of chocolate in it. Calorific or what? But totally worth it. I should take a photo of the biscuits they are that damn good. They have Cherry Ripes in them and I am thinking that Peppermint Crisp would work just as well. *drool*
Spoke to Game Boy for around 43 seconds last Sunday night. He said he was off to church, but it was 8am his time. I'm not sure that most churches are even open at that time let alone have a service then…. I think he was trying to blow me off. I have repeatedly asked him to get Sweetpea’s health records out to me because the Aussie doctors wont give her any immunisations without knowing what she had in Canada and she is now a year behind. He kept saying “Find somewhere for me to fax them to you” and I kept telling him it isn’t a option, snail mail them to me. I swear he repeated the fax issue three times in 28 seconds (in a 43 second conversation). I want to scream at him, “This is your daughters health you are wasting arguments on”, but what would it achieve? Nothing. All I can hope is that he gets the records to me. And yes, I have rung the health clinic personally, but it still didn’t come through. I think they are now demanding payment and Kathy (the receptionist for my doctor there) didn’t know it and the paediatrician is being stubborn. Either way, my daughter’s health is being compromised and when I go to enrol her at school I will be up poop creek because children here have to be immunised or go through a million hoops to prove why they aren’t. I still really like the idea of home schooling but I fear the government will stop my single parent pension and demand I go out and work to support my daughter and myself. Being a single, stay at home parent isn’t an option with this government, which puts an end to the home schooling option. That option is only for the super rich or the child lucky enough to have two parents.
Mum keeps telling me to cut Sweetpea's hair because its getting in her eyes. I have told her in no uncertain terms that I am NOT giving me child a mullet hair cut to get the hair out of her eyes. I suffered years with short (boy length) hair and I will not make my daughter suffer likewise. Mum swears it was to thicken my hair. Bullocks. You have as many hair follicles as you will ever have and you cant change anything but keeping the hair super short for years. It was only when people kept calling me a boy in front of her in shopping centres that she finally relented and allowed me to grow my hair long. I am simply wanting Sweetpea's hair to grow from the crown of her head to near the nape of her neck so that I can have to cut into a bob of sorts when she finally has enough hair for a first hair cut! Mums constant nagging has meant that now every morning I have to beg Sweetpea to let me put her hair up in a piggy tail to keep her face hair free, which, I have to tell you, she does not appreciate at all. We have fights (lord, she is only two!) of me saying “Pleeeeeeeeease Sweetpea?” and her saying “No!” repeatedly. All I can hope is that her hair grows quickly. When I look back on Good Friday photos her hair wasn’t as thick as it is now, so there is hope! I want to get my hair cut.
I watched the movie “The Family Stone” tonight. In words of a great Scottish lass I know around this OD joint, it sucked big hairy donkey balls. Boring doesn’t come close to describing it. Equally disappointing was the movie “Little Miss Sunshine”, which is really frustrating because I spent $16 on the damn thing. Barrrrrr-humbug. Which makes me miss the pawn shop that was a 15 minute walk from my home in Ottawa, which had DVD’s for $5. I miss my life in Ottawa.
My sister has officially popped at 15 weeks. It isn’t easy to always be happy for her. Its my own issue of overwhelming jealousy. I had to tell Mum that she was ripping my heart out every time to started to talk about how she hoped it was a girl and that I should be handing over all my stuff to Laywer Girl. I told her that if she knew my prayers were to have another child somehow, why would she ask me to give my stuff away. That you only give baby stuff away when you have finished having babies. I hope that she shuts up about it, because I am not ready to hand over any of my things (my memories and hopes) to Laywer Girl and BIL. I want to hang on to them for now.
Its become a routine that when I go into the shower and have my hair wet and plastered to my back Sweetpea opens the door and puckers up for a kiss. I think its really because she likes the fiant feeling of water showering over her, but it could also be because she wants to kiss me. I’ll take the second option.
I got the official offer (and congratulations) letter from the university today – finally. The sad part is that I don't feel like opening the bottle of champagne to celebrate. I just want to curl up and cry a bit more. I'm exhausted just thinking about what subject(s) I am going to study the next semester. The subjects of offer are a wee bit (read extremely) boring but I have to get this fourth year out of the way. Ugh. I wish I hadn’t accepted that teaching job straight out of third year and opted instead to complete the forth year way back when dinosaurs walked the earth and I was in university for the first time.
I've been baking like a mad woman lately. All kinds of slices and biscuits to be exact, although I did make a flourless chocolate cake for one of mum’s friends who is allergic to wheat. I have discovered the most Devine chocy fudge biscuit that had over 500g (almost two pounds) of three different types of chocolate in it. Calorific or what? But totally worth it. I should take a photo of the biscuits they are that damn good. They have Cherry Ripes in them and I am thinking that Peppermint Crisp would work just as well. *drool*
Spoke to Game Boy for around 43 seconds last Sunday night. He said he was off to church, but it was 8am his time. I'm not sure that most churches are even open at that time let alone have a service then…. I think he was trying to blow me off. I have repeatedly asked him to get Sweetpea’s health records out to me because the Aussie doctors wont give her any immunisations without knowing what she had in Canada and she is now a year behind. He kept saying “Find somewhere for me to fax them to you” and I kept telling him it isn’t a option, snail mail them to me. I swear he repeated the fax issue three times in 28 seconds (in a 43 second conversation). I want to scream at him, “This is your daughters health you are wasting arguments on”, but what would it achieve? Nothing. All I can hope is that he gets the records to me. And yes, I have rung the health clinic personally, but it still didn’t come through. I think they are now demanding payment and Kathy (the receptionist for my doctor there) didn’t know it and the paediatrician is being stubborn. Either way, my daughter’s health is being compromised and when I go to enrol her at school I will be up poop creek because children here have to be immunised or go through a million hoops to prove why they aren’t. I still really like the idea of home schooling but I fear the government will stop my single parent pension and demand I go out and work to support my daughter and myself. Being a single, stay at home parent isn’t an option with this government, which puts an end to the home schooling option. That option is only for the super rich or the child lucky enough to have two parents.
Mum keeps telling me to cut Sweetpea's hair because its getting in her eyes. I have told her in no uncertain terms that I am NOT giving me child a mullet hair cut to get the hair out of her eyes. I suffered years with short (boy length) hair and I will not make my daughter suffer likewise. Mum swears it was to thicken my hair. Bullocks. You have as many hair follicles as you will ever have and you cant change anything but keeping the hair super short for years. It was only when people kept calling me a boy in front of her in shopping centres that she finally relented and allowed me to grow my hair long. I am simply wanting Sweetpea's hair to grow from the crown of her head to near the nape of her neck so that I can have to cut into a bob of sorts when she finally has enough hair for a first hair cut! Mums constant nagging has meant that now every morning I have to beg Sweetpea to let me put her hair up in a piggy tail to keep her face hair free, which, I have to tell you, she does not appreciate at all. We have fights (lord, she is only two!) of me saying “Pleeeeeeeeease Sweetpea?” and her saying “No!” repeatedly. All I can hope is that her hair grows quickly. When I look back on Good Friday photos her hair wasn’t as thick as it is now, so there is hope! I want to get my hair cut.
I watched the movie “The Family Stone” tonight. In words of a great Scottish lass I know around this OD joint, it sucked big hairy donkey balls. Boring doesn’t come close to describing it. Equally disappointing was the movie “Little Miss Sunshine”, which is really frustrating because I spent $16 on the damn thing. Barrrrrr-humbug. Which makes me miss the pawn shop that was a 15 minute walk from my home in Ottawa, which had DVD’s for $5. I miss my life in Ottawa.
My sister has officially popped at 15 weeks. It isn’t easy to always be happy for her. Its my own issue of overwhelming jealousy. I had to tell Mum that she was ripping my heart out every time to started to talk about how she hoped it was a girl and that I should be handing over all my stuff to Laywer Girl. I told her that if she knew my prayers were to have another child somehow, why would she ask me to give my stuff away. That you only give baby stuff away when you have finished having babies. I hope that she shuts up about it, because I am not ready to hand over any of my things (my memories and hopes) to Laywer Girl and BIL. I want to hang on to them for now.
Its become a routine that when I go into the shower and have my hair wet and plastered to my back Sweetpea opens the door and puckers up for a kiss. I think its really because she likes the fiant feeling of water showering over her, but it could also be because she wants to kiss me. I’ll take the second option.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Cleaning Before the Cleaner Comes.
“Ceylon, don't forget that the cleaner is coming tomorrow morning. The toilet and the bathroom need to cleaning. I don't want Karen to see them dirty.”
Do other people who use the services of cleaners do this too, this cleaning the rooms before the cleaner gets to them? Is it to avoid the possibility of the cleaner twigging to the fact that the rooms were, indeed, used during the past week by the very inhabitants living in the house they have been hired to clean? Can cleaners really be fooled so easily? Tidying up I understand, it makes a persons job much easier if they don't have to sweep up toys and fold piles of clothes left lying around; but cleaning the rooms, scrubbing hard to make porcelain sparkle, is that not just a wee bit irrational?
Is there, what amounts to literally a small army of people, who are hired as house cleaners in the world labouring under the false idea that really, houses (bathrooms and toilets especially) don't ever really get dirty? Do they not have bathrooms and toilets in their own homes they use, making dirty over the course of a week? Or do they secretly laugh to themselves as they drive in their cars and vans on their way to work, knowing that the night before someone has scurried around like a mad thing, cleaning the aforementioned rooms, under the heavy burden of fear of being found out to actually use the bathroom and toilet. On the other hand, do cleaners hire cleaners themselves, and on the eve of the hired help coming, find themselves manically cleaning the bathroom and toilet before their hired help comes to clean their homes?
The possibility of my thinking about this possibility is making me feel quite dizzy. So much so that I think I might go and clean a toilet and flush those spiralling thoughts away before Karen gets here. I wouldn’t want her to see that our toilet had been used this past week.
Do other people who use the services of cleaners do this too, this cleaning the rooms before the cleaner gets to them? Is it to avoid the possibility of the cleaner twigging to the fact that the rooms were, indeed, used during the past week by the very inhabitants living in the house they have been hired to clean? Can cleaners really be fooled so easily? Tidying up I understand, it makes a persons job much easier if they don't have to sweep up toys and fold piles of clothes left lying around; but cleaning the rooms, scrubbing hard to make porcelain sparkle, is that not just a wee bit irrational?
Is there, what amounts to literally a small army of people, who are hired as house cleaners in the world labouring under the false idea that really, houses (bathrooms and toilets especially) don't ever really get dirty? Do they not have bathrooms and toilets in their own homes they use, making dirty over the course of a week? Or do they secretly laugh to themselves as they drive in their cars and vans on their way to work, knowing that the night before someone has scurried around like a mad thing, cleaning the aforementioned rooms, under the heavy burden of fear of being found out to actually use the bathroom and toilet. On the other hand, do cleaners hire cleaners themselves, and on the eve of the hired help coming, find themselves manically cleaning the bathroom and toilet before their hired help comes to clean their homes?
The possibility of my thinking about this possibility is making me feel quite dizzy. So much so that I think I might go and clean a toilet and flush those spiralling thoughts away before Karen gets here. I wouldn’t want her to see that our toilet had been used this past week.
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