There’s an old saying: be careful what you wish for…it just might come true.
As a mother and stepmother, with two out of three children classified as ‘special needs’, you don’t really get a lot of time to yourself. Even husbands take their fair share of work.
But there’s a big difference between wanting some down time and being forced into it.
10 days after I blew my back out I’m getting a touch of cabin fever.
And I’m fast running out of ideas here.
I’m trying not to get stressed about the mess that’s sitting there staring me in the face waiting for me to get to it. I’m trying not to feel anxious that there’s people to see and places to be. And I’m trying not to anticipate more pain from simply doing the basics of childcare and housework. But there’s really not a lot one can do when one is forced into staying still.
So I go from lying flat out on the bed, to being strapped to a TENs machine, and moving slower than a turtle (and way slower than the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles my son so loves) from room to room.
This evening my Beloved thought I was up to a bath, so he turned on the taps and sloshed in some special stuff in a bid to help me unwind.
Unfortunately he was a little too generous with the bath products, probably thinking the more the merrier.
If you’ve ever seen pictures or those TV shows where someone adds a little too much laundry powder to the washing machine, you can guess what happened next.
With the spa jets on full, and my back frozen into position once more, I found myself slowly disappearing beneath a white wall of froth. And with the sound of the motor echoing around our miniscule bathroom, it seems no one could hear my pathetic little pleas for “Help!” from their spot in front of the television.
To make matters worse, when I finally was able to break through the pain barrier in order to make a desperate lunge for the ‘Off’ button on the spa, I sloshed enough water up the sides to promptly douse the candles my Beloved had ever so thoughtfully lit to set the mood, and upended my little tipple of Baileys by the bath. The sight of the ice cubes disappearing beneath the waves brought back memories of the ‘Titanic’, destined for a similar fate to Jack (for the solitary soul who hasn’t seen James Cameron’s version, rent it when you get a spare three hours or so and you’ll know what I mean).
I could only console myself with the thought that if milk baths were good enough for Cleopatra, they’re good enough for me. (Not sure about any beneficial effects Baileys Irish Cream® might have on the skin, though.)
It was at this time that the children decided Mama needed company in the bath, and I was joined by two slippery little critters amidst the bubbles.
After 15 minutes of this I was given permission to leave them to it, and hauled myself out of the tub and into standing position, flailing about for the towel which was just out of reach, before I finally caught hold of a thread on the corner and attempted to dry myself off.
Sadly, the entire episode didn't quite have the desired effect of relaxing me, and I shuffled to the bedroom and crawled under the covers, completely exhausted and still slightly damp around the ankles.
Luckily it was my Beloved’s night off and there was sufficient food in the freezer for him to rustle up some grits for himself and the kids. I was also in prime position for the regular bedtime story then simply bid them all goodnight, took my evening dose of painkillers and drifted off to sleep.
With a bit of luck this bad back will all be behind me soon enough (pun intended) and it’ll be business as usual before too long (minus any scrubbing of showers for the foreseeable future).
And if I happen to notice any significant improvement in skin tone- who knows, milk might make a regular appearance in my bathing beauty routine. But I think I'll keep the Baileys out of the bubbles just the same.
Jx
©2010
Showing posts with label TMNT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TMNT. Show all posts
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, June 18, 2009
War of the Words
There’s a cake of soap sitting on our lounge at the moment.
At first I wondered why it was there, but then I realised the implications: our son was playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles® on the PlayStation®.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I come from a long line of “Mind your Manners” and “We don’t use that kind of language in our house”.
I mean to say, when my mother was a young adult still at home (before my father supposedly swept her off her feet and into the world of motherhood and all it entails) she was learning to use the ol’ Singer® sewing machine (a classic in this day and age, and if you happen to see one in the antique shops grab it for heaven’s sake, they’re worth a fortune…but I digress). She was having some difficulty in getting the bobbin to catch- the cotton kept snapping- so she said: “Oh you bloody thing!” Unfortunately for her my nan was within earshot and promptly took her to task saying “If that machine is going to cause you to use such language, well you can give it away right now!”
Oh we LOL about it these days, but back then even such a mild curse caused chaos in the household…heaven forbid anyone said anything worse than that!
Nowadays the things my kids bring home from school (and the so-called “hilarious” screensavers and ringtones my stepson has on his mobile) could cause my hair to curl even if it weren’t already predisposed to doing so!
We thought we were doing so well for the first few years. Oh I would be lying if I said no swear word ever left my mouth- after all, I’m a media hound from way back, and a mother to boot. But we always try to tone it down in front of the kids.Sadly, as soon as our little boy hit kindergarten, his vocabulary took on a life of its own.
Happily, it seems to be more of a ‘boy-thing’ at the moment as our daughter isn’t exhibiting the same finesse with the F word as our son has demonstrated (also while playing a video game). But he’s only done it once, I can assure you.
Mind you, in view of equal rights for the sexes and all, I should make mention of one time my little girl tried some big bad words on for size.
She and her brother were arguing (about who loved the other the most would you believe?!) when next thing my darling daughter, hands on hips, declared “Oh what a load of bullsh*t!”
Now, how hard is it to reprimand when you’re having trouble keeping a straight face, I ask you?!
Scary thing was, it was a frighteningly accurate impression of her mother. Yes it was mini-me in action!
After the laughter, I reminded Miss V that it was a grown-up turn of phrase, which shouldn’t turn up in the course of her conversations! (I even apologised for being the inspiration for it, trying to set a good example and all.)
As for the silly sayings for body parts, well that’s enough for a blog of its own. Suffice to say that I really wonder about what other parents are thinking using names like “doodle”, wee wee”, “pee pee”, and let’s not forget “willy” for the male appendage. And what is it with “front bottom” for little girls I ask you?? Front bottom!! No, we have always called them by their proper names (much to my Beloved’s embarrassment at first when our daughter was born- harking back to his experiences of childhood, perhaps?) … but once again when our son started mixing with other kids at pre-school, he even started to think that they were rude or dirty words and cause for naughty celebration.
Sitting in the bath with his little sister, all of age 2 himself, my son was merrily saying “Bagina” this, “Bagina” that, until my husband and I were forced to admonish him for the inappropriate use. The cheeky little devil looked his father in the eye and said “B- b- b- b- boat.”
Again, it’s kinda hard to remind them about the right use of language when you’re giggling too much to talk.
Anyway, back to TMNT on the PS2 and that cake of soap on the lounge… apparently replacing the obvious with the word “shell” isn’t enough to distract my son from the fact that there are swear words lurking nearby. It’s even worse if he plays The Simpsons™. *shudder*
So just like my nan whenever mum was using the infamous Singer sewing machine, if our son’s on the PlayStation, my Beloved is hovering nearby- our family’s very own Language Police- in a bid to keep our kids’ mouths as clean as we can. At least until they grow up and move out at any rate. Lord knows he won’t get away with the soap trick then! ;-D
Jx
©2009
PS: On the flipside, I had to laugh the other day when Miss V came home from her school excursion to a local wildlife reserve called 'Blackbutt'. She was telling her aunty on the 'phone all about her trip to 'Blackbottom'! ROFL
At first I wondered why it was there, but then I realised the implications: our son was playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles® on the PlayStation®.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I come from a long line of “Mind your Manners” and “We don’t use that kind of language in our house”.
I mean to say, when my mother was a young adult still at home (before my father supposedly swept her off her feet and into the world of motherhood and all it entails) she was learning to use the ol’ Singer® sewing machine (a classic in this day and age, and if you happen to see one in the antique shops grab it for heaven’s sake, they’re worth a fortune…but I digress). She was having some difficulty in getting the bobbin to catch- the cotton kept snapping- so she said: “Oh you bloody thing!” Unfortunately for her my nan was within earshot and promptly took her to task saying “If that machine is going to cause you to use such language, well you can give it away right now!”
Oh we LOL about it these days, but back then even such a mild curse caused chaos in the household…heaven forbid anyone said anything worse than that!
Nowadays the things my kids bring home from school (and the so-called “hilarious” screensavers and ringtones my stepson has on his mobile) could cause my hair to curl even if it weren’t already predisposed to doing so!
We thought we were doing so well for the first few years. Oh I would be lying if I said no swear word ever left my mouth- after all, I’m a media hound from way back, and a mother to boot. But we always try to tone it down in front of the kids.Sadly, as soon as our little boy hit kindergarten, his vocabulary took on a life of its own.
Happily, it seems to be more of a ‘boy-thing’ at the moment as our daughter isn’t exhibiting the same finesse with the F word as our son has demonstrated (also while playing a video game). But he’s only done it once, I can assure you.
Mind you, in view of equal rights for the sexes and all, I should make mention of one time my little girl tried some big bad words on for size.
She and her brother were arguing (about who loved the other the most would you believe?!) when next thing my darling daughter, hands on hips, declared “Oh what a load of bullsh*t!”
Now, how hard is it to reprimand when you’re having trouble keeping a straight face, I ask you?!
Scary thing was, it was a frighteningly accurate impression of her mother. Yes it was mini-me in action!
After the laughter, I reminded Miss V that it was a grown-up turn of phrase, which shouldn’t turn up in the course of her conversations! (I even apologised for being the inspiration for it, trying to set a good example and all.)
As for the silly sayings for body parts, well that’s enough for a blog of its own. Suffice to say that I really wonder about what other parents are thinking using names like “doodle”, wee wee”, “pee pee”, and let’s not forget “willy” for the male appendage. And what is it with “front bottom” for little girls I ask you?? Front bottom!! No, we have always called them by their proper names (much to my Beloved’s embarrassment at first when our daughter was born- harking back to his experiences of childhood, perhaps?) … but once again when our son started mixing with other kids at pre-school, he even started to think that they were rude or dirty words and cause for naughty celebration.
Sitting in the bath with his little sister, all of age 2 himself, my son was merrily saying “Bagina” this, “Bagina” that, until my husband and I were forced to admonish him for the inappropriate use. The cheeky little devil looked his father in the eye and said “B- b- b- b- boat.”
Again, it’s kinda hard to remind them about the right use of language when you’re giggling too much to talk.
Anyway, back to TMNT on the PS2 and that cake of soap on the lounge… apparently replacing the obvious with the word “shell” isn’t enough to distract my son from the fact that there are swear words lurking nearby. It’s even worse if he plays The Simpsons™. *shudder*
So just like my nan whenever mum was using the infamous Singer sewing machine, if our son’s on the PlayStation, my Beloved is hovering nearby- our family’s very own Language Police- in a bid to keep our kids’ mouths as clean as we can. At least until they grow up and move out at any rate. Lord knows he won’t get away with the soap trick then! ;-D
Jx
©2009
PS: On the flipside, I had to laugh the other day when Miss V came home from her school excursion to a local wildlife reserve called 'Blackbutt'. She was telling her aunty on the 'phone all about her trip to 'Blackbottom'! ROFL
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Life's an adventure...?
Seems I've got a theme going here, and the last couple of days tie in nicely. The difference between being a kid and being an adult, I mean.
As much as I don't like to use those words- my son is sick. He has Juvenile Arthritis, has had since he was but a wee bub. It sure adds a rollercoaster dimension to the whole family life thing.
Long story short-ish: he had to have his tonsils/adenoids out due to repeated infection due to being immunosuppressed due to JIA. He had to go off most of his medications prior to the surgery to reduce post-operative risks. As expected, he flared up in a number of joints. His right wrist has not recovered. But at least he can walk again! Yay!
So, after weeks of being unable to care for himself as best a 6 y.o. can (eating, dressing, even toileting) and after many 'phone calls trying to get someone to look at him again (including a bum-steer by a GP who admitted she didn't know anything about juvenile arthritis and sent him for an x-ray suspecting another fracture) we were called by the Paed Rheumy to get to Sydney as quick as we could. (Normally, just an hour and half's trip south.)
Now the fun part really begins!
I had to leave work (casual, because I can't do fulltime due to the extent of care needed) dash home, get the kids ready, and 'convince' them to go. My Beloved didn't come because he was on night shift and needed sleep. We head down the ol' F3 freeway and en route hear of a fatal truck accident blocking the other side of the road. My son's first words were "I bet he's someone's daddy." (My hubby drives trucks.) Such wisdom in one so young.
Anyway, half an hour ahead of the emergency appointment and just 19.7 km (according to my trusty TomTom) from our destination, my car loses power and I do some precision driving to weave through the traffic to get it to the verge- nowhere near an emergency phone, and barely enough room alongside the rockface to pull over (scary stuff).
The kids are wondering why I've stopped there, but are still content at that stage to watch their DVD player (thank God for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles®).
After waiting nearly an hour for a tow truck, we got the rudest, most chauvinistic (and I'm sorry to say this: the ugliest) driver in the known universe. I won't go into all the details here, but I'm sure ladies would appreciate comments like "Shouldn'a done a trip with no fuel in the car" (that wasn't the problem actually) and "You can wear the ticket if ya get one", and the ever-so-thoughtful "What's wrong with your kid?" I can only say, I'm sure the man's mother loves him.
After being told my son's got to go back into hospital again, :-( we wait another half hour for the roadside assistance guy to get the car started again. Thankfully, he was lovely!
OK, so now it's late, getting dark, starting to rain, the F3 northbound is still blocked for hours, and I have a dodgy car. We arrange emergency accommodation and make the trip home 24 hours after we left, in heavy traffic, in the rain, driving very cautiously in case the car breaks down again.
So for the kids: what an adventure- they got a ride in a tow truck, got plenty of DVD time, got snake lollies from the doctor and funky new toothbrushes from the hospital, slept in 'motel' beds, AND had Maccas not only for dinner but for breakfast too!! Awesome!!!
The grown-up, on the other hand, needed an aspirin and a nice lie down.
Jx
©2009
As much as I don't like to use those words- my son is sick. He has Juvenile Arthritis, has had since he was but a wee bub. It sure adds a rollercoaster dimension to the whole family life thing.
Long story short-ish: he had to have his tonsils/adenoids out due to repeated infection due to being immunosuppressed due to JIA. He had to go off most of his medications prior to the surgery to reduce post-operative risks. As expected, he flared up in a number of joints. His right wrist has not recovered. But at least he can walk again! Yay!
So, after weeks of being unable to care for himself as best a 6 y.o. can (eating, dressing, even toileting) and after many 'phone calls trying to get someone to look at him again (including a bum-steer by a GP who admitted she didn't know anything about juvenile arthritis and sent him for an x-ray suspecting another fracture) we were called by the Paed Rheumy to get to Sydney as quick as we could. (Normally, just an hour and half's trip south.)
Now the fun part really begins!
I had to leave work (casual, because I can't do fulltime due to the extent of care needed) dash home, get the kids ready, and 'convince' them to go. My Beloved didn't come because he was on night shift and needed sleep. We head down the ol' F3 freeway and en route hear of a fatal truck accident blocking the other side of the road. My son's first words were "I bet he's someone's daddy." (My hubby drives trucks.) Such wisdom in one so young.
Anyway, half an hour ahead of the emergency appointment and just 19.7 km (according to my trusty TomTom) from our destination, my car loses power and I do some precision driving to weave through the traffic to get it to the verge- nowhere near an emergency phone, and barely enough room alongside the rockface to pull over (scary stuff).
The kids are wondering why I've stopped there, but are still content at that stage to watch their DVD player (thank God for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles®).
After waiting nearly an hour for a tow truck, we got the rudest, most chauvinistic (and I'm sorry to say this: the ugliest) driver in the known universe. I won't go into all the details here, but I'm sure ladies would appreciate comments like "Shouldn'a done a trip with no fuel in the car" (that wasn't the problem actually) and "You can wear the ticket if ya get one", and the ever-so-thoughtful "What's wrong with your kid?" I can only say, I'm sure the man's mother loves him.
After being told my son's got to go back into hospital again, :-( we wait another half hour for the roadside assistance guy to get the car started again. Thankfully, he was lovely!
OK, so now it's late, getting dark, starting to rain, the F3 northbound is still blocked for hours, and I have a dodgy car. We arrange emergency accommodation and make the trip home 24 hours after we left, in heavy traffic, in the rain, driving very cautiously in case the car breaks down again.
So for the kids: what an adventure- they got a ride in a tow truck, got plenty of DVD time, got snake lollies from the doctor and funky new toothbrushes from the hospital, slept in 'motel' beds, AND had Maccas not only for dinner but for breakfast too!! Awesome!!!
The grown-up, on the other hand, needed an aspirin and a nice lie down.
Jx
©2009
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