Posted by Cluckster, 16/08/2011, 12:32 PM
*while observing me change the bedsheets
DS: "you have to do everything because you're the mum. When I grow up and I'm a mum, I'll have to do everything too"
Me: "you won't be a mum; you'll be a dad."
DS: "oh yeah. That means I won't have to do anything."
*rapidly followed by a lecture in equality in the home.
*after discovering DD had worms
Me: "they're like little bugs that make your bottom itchy. They're called parasites because they live inside you eating what you eat. You're feeding them... Like a pet!"
DD: "a bad pet. We won't be going back to THAT pet shop!"
Posted by Cluckster, 20/06/2011, 11:09 PM
Firstly, I can hardly believe 6 months have elapsed since I last wrote in this blog. My life has been a whirlwind this year so something had to give I guess.
Hannah, now 5 and a half, has entered a new phase in fashion. She confidently flipped her hair as she strutted along the cafe strip in a carefully constructed, rather too-grown-up outfit.
Me: "You look very cute today, sweetheart: very cool."
Hannah: "Yes, like a POOPSTER!"
Me: "Err, a poopster?"
Hannah: "Yeah, a poopster... or any sort of star, you know."
Me: *dawning* "Oh a POPstar!"
Thank Heaven for that.
Posted by Cluckster, 12/01/2011, 07:55 PM
My children enjoy creating and acting out stories. DD is a traditionalist who follows known fairytales or simple extensions of them. DS, on the other hand is more inventive. I'm glad to nurture such creativity.
I question the merit of encouragement, however, when the tales commence as DS's did today:
"Once upon a time, there was a big smelly fart..."
Posted by Cluckster, 29/12/2010, 04:09 PM
I passed the bathroom door and glimpsed a little person out of the corner of my eye sitting spread-eagled on the toilet inspecting his own bottom. I know he was doing this because he'd pulled some inconveniently located genitalia out of the way to get a better look. It's not unusual, so I walked on.
A minute later, I walked back past the door just in time to see the same little person pop a considered forefinger into his mouth. I thought he was eating boogers until a more horrible thought entered my head.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST DO??" shouted I in alarm. "What did you just put into your mouth?"
"It was poo," Cam answered curiously.
"Aaargh! Yuck, mate! Stick out your tongue, quickly!" I wiped what I could off with toilet paper and then instructed him to wash his mouth out at the sink. My panic made way for mirth when he sucked on his tongue on the way to the sink and his face withered with horror.
"So how did that taste then?"
He could only manage a head-shake before saying "Not good."
I'm sure it's been filed away as a failed experiment in his 3 year old mind.
Posted by Cluckster, 09/12/2010, 03:53 PM
I don't have heart disease. Dr J's interpretation of events was that I fainted.
In his haste to write cardiac bloodwork instructions, he forgot to include the diabetes test in the list of checks so I have to have another BT. Yippee. But it's all good. As my mother said: "the lesser of two evils".
Posted by Cluckster, 23/11/2010, 06:09 PM
I am sitting here listening to my heart pulse in my ears. Listening to every sign.
Today I had my final exam for the year and, indeed, for my post-grad studies. It was jubilation for a short hour. I have to start this entry again, to begin from Sunday, to explain.
I was studying on the back deck with my iPod plinking some indie rock ballad through my earphones, when suddenly I had, what I refer to in Granny Speak "a bit of a funny turn". I don't recall too much about it but I know I suddenly felt anxious, dizzy, ill and confused and my heart felt like it was riding a rollercoaster so I ripped my earphones out and lay down on the couch. Thinking it was blood-sugar related, I gnawed on a piece of medicinal chocolate and waited till I felt well enough to go have some lunch. It took about 10 minutes. For another hour afterwards, though, I didn't feel quite right.
I went down to the pharmacist to have BP and BSL readings. BP=perfect; BSL=10.5. Hmm could be that chocolate. Anyway, didn't think too much about it, but after making the mistake of telling my mother I agreed to see a doctor, which I did today, after my exam was finished.
He's lovely, my doctor. Jovial. And a little bit hot.
Dr J organised some tests that they could do in the surgery: another BSL, which was normal and an ECG, which was not.
When I handed the ECG to him, he looked confused as he silently gazed at the wiggly lines like it was speaking to him. I kept thinking "this is the part where you say "ok, that looks fine"" but he just put his head in his hand and frowned.
"This says you've had a heart attack" he said plainly.
"Phht!" says I.
"I s'pose you read this?"
"Ah, no. I didn't read it. I'm not a doctor," at which point I arched my neck to read some medical jargon and the words "ECG ABNORMAL" at the top. What the hell? I'm 38. I'm thin. I don't smoke. How is THAT fair? I have kids, man. Little kids. How are they supposed to understand if I'm not around for them?
My brain wouldn't stop screaming at him. My mouth remained slack-jawed and still. His voice interrupted my cerebral meltdown:
"But it could be wrong!" he said, like the punchline of a joke I didn't get.
The rest of the consult was a blur. I had some bloods taken to confirm or deny the ECG results and was told to return in 2 hours.
I didn't want to be alone. DH and the children are interstate. I was to join them tonight. I went to a friend's house so I didn't have to sit pondering the 'what ifs' while I tortured myself with Dr Google. Dr J called during my visit. He had a cardiologist look at the ECG and the cardio said the wobbles were within the range of natural arrhythmia.
Still no word from Dr J about the bloodwork, but he said he would call if there was anything sinister. So I'm taking that to mean I've, in fact, NOT had a heart attack. Thanks for ruining my afternoon, Dr J. It's just lucky you're cute.
Fast forward to a few minutes ago. I spoke to mum on the phone and told her everything.
"I'm pretty confident it's all nothing, especially since we have no family history of heart disease."
"Yeah. Oh, except for my dad's side. They all died young from heart problems."
Sheesh. A mother's job is to comfort.
So here I am. Listening to my heart.
Posted by Cluckster, 28/10/2010, 09:39 PM
Hannah and Cameron rushed the bathroom at the end of school/daycare pickup both shouting their greater toileting need. Curse of the one-bathroom house. Hannah won the sprint and so Cameron prowled the bathroom for something to pick up/play with/break. I went in to wash my hands and Cam disappeared into a not-quite-tidy kitchen still looking for something to occupy his mind.
He re-entered the bathroom with one of those faces. You know the one. The one where you can see the cogs turning about something marginally questionable they'd done seconds earlier. He cocked his head to one side and stated:
"I found something on the table. I touched it. It's not poo. It's WEETBIX!"
Oh dear God, thinks I.
I looked at a brown blob on the kids' table. Best case scenario: he stuck his finger in it. Worst case scenario: he tasted it.
I'm happy to report he was right.
Entries in September 2010
Posted by Cluckster, 14/09/2010, 04:11 PM
I'm struggling today.
A few days ago I woke with a cold and after a few sleepless nights decided some chemical resurrection was in order and popped a couple of nighttime cold tablets. Obviously the dose is meant for someone larger than I, as I woke this morning feeling like I was moving through a bucket of peanut butter. So I took the Day version to 'soldier on' (uppers anyone?).
I tried to study for a couple of hours for an exam tomorrow but I was seeing words in triplicate so gave it away as a bad joke. I tried to refocus on the catering for Cam's 3rd birthday party on Thursday (yes, I'm throwing a party the day after an exam... the word foolish should slot in here someplace).
Like every Tuesday, the children and I planned to drive to the library for Storytime, followed by a bento box at the local Japanese cafe and grocery shopping across the hall at the supermarket. This morning, however, didn't quite go to plan. At 10am I did 4 laps of the house looking for my keys before ringing DH to find out if he knew where they were. He did. He had them in his pocket after all. We didn't have spare car keys but we did have spare house keys so I thought I'd take the kids on an 'adventure' on the bus instead.
We made it to the library in time to make a bookmark or five during craft, gobbled up a bento and then shopped to a much-pared-back list for Cam's party as there's only so many grocery items one can fit into a pram. Cam and Hannah were 'helping'. Fortunately no breakages but Cam was pushing new boundaries by checkout time. His body language indicated this walking caper is overrated.
Dragging the kids back through the crowds to the bus station, the cold medicine had started wearing off and I was wishing for a hot chocolate and a good lie down. The bus arrived and the passengers crowded around the entrance. I held back a few seconds when an older lady waved me on first. I tried to rock the pram up onto the bus floor (bus driver couldn't be bothered extending the wheelchair access for me), and nearly toppled all of the groceries out the side. The old lady behind me helped to stablise, then the kids rushed on. Wait! calls I. Suddenly it turned ugly.
An indigenous lady behind the old woman yelled "Come on! hurry up!"
I fumbled with my change, hunted about in my handbag for some more. The old lady said "she's got her hands full with a couple of little kids."
"Yeah, well she should've had her money out before she got on."
The old lady tempered the situation: "I think you should get on first..." The indigenous lady pushed past her and said "The way she bounded on board, like she already had her money."
"Sorry" I said lamely. She turned and said, an inch from my face: "No you're not. Sorry's just a word, isn't it."
She couldn't have said anything more profoundly hurtful.
She told Hannah to move out of the way and went to the back of the bus. I sat on my seat with the children and allowed a few humiliated yet silently dignified tears streak down my cheeks.
"Why did that lady say mean things to you mummy?" Hannah asked.
"Because she's angry, sweetie," I answered.
Posted by Cluckster, 12/08/2010, 10:59 PM
I'm pleased to report that despite the school yard politics Hannah has weathered recently, her sense of humour and imagination remain undented.
During bathtime, I mechanically repeat "Wash your faces and your special bits" every night. Well to be honest, they've only recently become 'special bits' because I got tired of saying "penis, testicles, vulva, vagina and bottoms". Both of my offspring are well versed in genital anatomy, so when Hannah asked "what are my special bits mum?" I knew she was just probing for some conversation.
Me: "You know what your special bits are"
Hannah: "My vagina, vulva and bottom"
Me: "Yes, baby"
Hannah: "This is my vulva" *indicates the correct anatomy* "and that's where my penis will grow."
Me: "Umm no."
Actually, that reminds me of something she said a couple of days ago, while watching a Playschool presenter add the finishing touches to the legs of a crepe paper octopus:
Hannah: "Cameron's got tenticles too!"
Me: "No dear. He has TESTICLES. If he had 8 testicles, it would be rather too much for him to handle I should think."
Posted by Cluckster, 07/07/2010, 10:59 PM
I must preface this entry with an apology for being so hopelessly behind in the diary. Studying took away all recreational computer time during last semester. It also took away a dangerous amount of weight (last time I weighed less than 50kgs I was 16...).
This entry is really just to put down my worries about Hannah's school experience. I always imagined my sweet, passive, happy child would have no problems developing close bonds with a few lucky classmates. It seems I was wrong. A few times, just before the end of semester, she protested sadly about going to school. She wouldn't give me any hints why it wasn't quite as wonderful as she thought it was earlier in the year so I decided to put my investigator's cap on and do some snooping.
I volunteered for parent roster. During play time, she only wanted to play with me. During organised play she was selected by her classmates second last from a group of Duck-Duck-Goosers, which in itself isn't terrible except that the other children had been chosen between 2 and 4 times each before the supervisor instructed the current Goose to pick either Hannah or the other socially outcast child. All the while she sat quietly without protest.
Yesterday, we went to a classmate's birthday party. I chatted with the mother of a child with whom I gathered Hannah was good friends. When I said that Hannah talked about her daughter Mac a lot she said nodding "Mac adores Jamie, and where there's Jamie, there's Hannah". This really didn't sit right with me. Was she suggesting that Mac was only friends with Hannah because Hannah was a friend of Jamie's? Jamie's a popular kid. She gets amongst it. Hannah and Jamie have been friends since birth and now it seems this bond is the only one that is true.
Even that one is wobbly. I asked her what she did when Mac and Jamie play with other girls (specifically, Emma and Sophie: the playground rulers - yes, apparently it does exist amongst 5 year olds. These young ladies told Hannah she could only play with them if she "was the dog" ).
Me: "Do you ask Jamie if you can join in?"
Hannah: "She asks Emma and Emma says 'no' so I just walk away"
Me: "What does Jamie say?"
Hannah: "Nothing. She just keeps playing. I wish I could play with them. They play really fun games."
Me: "Well what about Ava? She's lovely, go play with her when it doesn't work out with Jamie."
Hannah: "I do, but sometimes she's already playing with somebody else..."
Now, Hannah's not the self-pitying kind. She doesn't whinge. She walks away from conflict. And now it seems all that goodness has left her in friendship limboland.
And my heart bleeds.
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