so this weekend just passed saw me leaving on a jet plane to Melbourne. No thanks to a multi-national sending me somewhere lush for free but to my annual sojourn to sewjourn where I get in touch with my uselessness on a sewing machine and general absence of creative process while surrounded by outrageously crafty and creative ladies. Luckily I can pretty much eat and drink them all under the table so there is that to stop me feeling like a complete incompetent.
It was a smaller tribe this year than last and I must say, a quieter more industrious crew.
I got completely side-swiped by the red ninja which was a bit of a downer to say the least. I mean, WHAT.THE.FUCK. ovaries, I was totally prepared for your monthly tantrum this week not Saturday morning. BITCH.
Fortuitously I had resumed my homicide-reduction pill taking therefore didn’t stab anyone but it did explain the fillet-of-fish binge eating I embarked on last week.
You’d think after having my period for TWENTY SEVEN YEARS I’d be a bit more clued in to what the hell was going on but barely a month goes by where its arrival doesn’t cause me to go ‘what? ALREADY?’
So there as that.
I have basically been having a pity party to end all pity parties these last two days.Â I have one parent miffed at me for forgetting their birthday and the other one clearly unhappy with me for what I suspect is me not paying them enough attention.
Then there is my monthly slide into morbid self-doubt, depreciation and general feeling of imminent doom. Cheery!
But fear not, I am on the improve. Some baking has been had, friends are coming over tomorrow and the world still turns. I dramatically edited my twitter feed, and have gone through all the photos on my iPhone. Granted that time would have been better spent cleaning up the cesspit that is our home but at least cleaning up these two things means they will stay clean. For a while at least.
Pictures are of progress I made on making a quilt for Oscar.
Management apologise for the delay in posting and are seeking to rectify the problems as quickly as its children and life will allow.
six word memoirs
I fear I could lose hours of my life each and every day doing this. I have a character in my head who defines his world as you would a movie review and this is much the same premise.
But I mean really, I could just make some really deep, really creepy, really disturbed ‘secrets’ up and go all scrapbooking on your arse.
Stuff White People Like
… Immediately following graduation but prior to renovating a house, white people take their first step from childhood to maturity by hosting a successful dinner party …
It has had over 14 million hits and it only launched in January.
It’s popular because it’s good.
Although none of it seems particularly amateurish.
Because I dream of having one grain of the talent some of these people have.
Because if I was an illustrator, this is the type of work I’d do.
for someone like me who blathers on, it’s simplicity is breathtakingly beautiful and makes me want to shut up. Even in my head.
For the same reason.
but you know, even I was sick of the train-wreck-in-slow-motion.
I felt like everyone must be logging in going “I wonder what fresh hell has befallen Kim and her peeps today”
And you know, I was feeling pretty battered.
Tomorrow we’re at Sydney Children’s for Oscar’s latest round of botox and also getting leg casts for new super legs.
We’re in the afternoon theatre list so you know, that is so.much.fun. because what could be more enjoyable than not letting your kid eat from 10am and then hanging around a hospital from mid-morning when you know your kid is 6th on a theatre list of 8.
Maybe a lobotomy with a spoon.
Today I thought to myself, ‘wow, we’ve almost got through a whole week without incident’ and then my phone rang.
Could I please come and collect Oscar as he fell over in the school hall and hit his head and I need to watch him for concussion.
The bump on his head casts its own shadow but he is fine.
Oscar’s birthday cake was a case study in why not to leave the making and icing of a birthday cake to the last minute.
I mean, I was icing it just before we were putting candles on it and singing happy birthday.
Which just as we started saw one part of the cake fall off.
I said it was a model of the Bucket’s house in the Tim Burton version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Such was its lean and amateur-hour appearance.
But it was delicious and perfect for the day – a BBQ and whole day of family just mooching around together and hanging out. No stress, no rush, lots of kids who all just love hanging out with each other and great comforting togetherness.
Oscar’s world is very small – us, his grandparents and some very close family friends – and you know what? That is not such a bad thing.
Felix was accepted into the training band.
The note came home at the beginning of last week and he wouldn’t let Chef (who’d picked him up) open it – he wanted to do it at home with me.
Sometimes you forget what a big deal this kind of thing is to a seven year old.
“Congratulations, you have been accepted into the – insert school name here – training band. Your instrument is the mellophone.”
I do believe I could see him physically jump out of his own skin in excitement.
Bless his cotton socks.
He had desperately wanted to play trumpet. The mellophone (which is the beginner french horn) was his second choice but at the information evening he had scored better getting a note from it than the trumpet. Considering the French Horn is effing hard to play I guess Mr Band Master saw this as a good sign and put him on mellophone.
I am stoked as I had wanted to play the French Horn at school but somehow ended up playing woodwind and was always too scared to ask to change.
He is still muttering, ‘I just can’t believe it.’
When I asked if he was cool with not getting the trumpet he was all ‘yeah, who cares, I’m in the training band!’
We had had a long discussion after the information evening about how he might not get his first choice and that did not mean he would never play the trumpet and that he had to remember he was in Year 3 and he had his whole life to learn as many instruments as he wanted to.
I’ve been telling myself it was this parenting mastery that helped ease the blow.
Anyway, there was a scintillating 4.5 hour session at the school on Saturday, which included a 1.5 hour session with a tutor to start learning some notes.
Parents had to stay so we knew how to help them take care of their instruments etc. and apart from that, it was great to see Felix interacting with a teacher.
Can I just do one of those parental gloats and say that he is such.a.good.kid.
GOD he makes my heart burst.
This week has featured two band practices, one after school on Monday and one this morning at 7.20.
He is in heaven.
Today Felix had a school excursion and when I picked him up he was as pale as a sheet.
I asked him how it had been and he was all, ‘it was OK’
So I asked if everything was OK
And he burst into tears, crying that ‘everyone was so noisy on the bus that I just couldn’t handle it’
GOD BLESS his cotton socks.
Oscar is in the midst of the free school swim program and today floated on his back for 80 seconds and on his front, with his face under water for 15 seconds. He’s also doing proper freestyle for a distance.
I can’t tell you what progress this is.
I mean, for a kid with such sensory sensitivities to be able to do this? Sensational.
Jasper seems to have moved from the you looked at me so now I must tantrum for forty five minutes to the adorable I am learning new words every microsecond deliciousness.
I am writing this so you know I am having good moments and having fun with my children.
That and so when the next the sky is blue WAH WAH WAH phase kicks in I can remind myself that it too will pass.
I got mastitis again.
I’m not talking about the rotting leg and the remedial approach to his own health that Chef employed, which is now going to negatively impact on our lives, our finances and his workplace. He knows he’s fucked up.
I’m not talking about the being back at work two days a week and what a spoke in the wheel of our life it is.
Felix quietly said tonight, out of the blue, unrelated to anything that had gone before and unprompted, “I love it when you are home. I don’t like it when you have to go to work”.
1. We need the money
2. It is good for me to have something else to think about for a little while
But there has to be a better way.
I’ve doubled my meds.
I haven’t been to WW since school went back as I used to go on Thursday mornings, but my return to work meant that Chef now has Wednesday not Thursday off and Thursday morning is also Jasper’s swim lesson. The only other local meetings are Wednesday during the day – when I’m at work and Wednesday evening – when I’ve been at work all day and need.to.get.home.
I DESPERATELY need to get back on track.
The emotional comfort eating of the last month is staggering.
And therefore depressing.
I need to say thank you to you all for your words of support and comfort.
I have been very rude and not responded to any of you.
Some of you even offered money.
Which was incredibly generous but just outrageous and something I could never ever do.
I mean, I wish this blog could provide my income, but I’m not Heather Armstrong or Amy Storch, I’m not even Pioneer Woman or Bossy or Bloggess Jenny.
And that is just how it is.
Being AN IDIOT WHO NEVER LEARNS
I offered to help with Felix’s school newsletter – specifically I offered to proof read it.
Somehow the principal interpreted that as me writing articles about education and using the school as an example for local free press.
If I’m doing that then they can FUCKING PAY ME.
Of course I’m doing it.
BECAUSE I AM A PUTZ.
Similarly I offered to help my hairdresser pull together his submission for some industry awards.
Which curiously turned into TWO submissions for different categories.
And his CV for something else.
I better get a FUCKING FREE HAIRCUT out of it because the bullet points he provided me with as a starting point?
Well let’s just say that I don’t care how great a cutter he is (and he is freaking sensational) to use the word PROFOUND in the same sentence as HAIR STYLIST is FUCKING INSANE.
I went to a workshop yesterday afternoon on a range of communication aids and systems for Oscar.
The one that would be really good would cost us between $8-$12,000.
I’m not kidding.
I met another mother there (the rest of the attendees were industry professionals in terms of being OTs and speechies and can I just say, isn’t it weird how you.can.tell.) who has a 16 year old daughter with cerebral palsy and spastic quadriplegia.
While she lives on the outskirts of Sydney, one of her daughters lives one suburb away from me and she is there every Thursday looking after her two-year-old grandson (she had three children, an eight year gap and then her daughter w/ special needs). We’re going to get together so her grandson and Jasper can play and she can impart her experience (her daughter also has no speech) to me.
I can’t tell you how beneficial this chance meeting was. I have been feeling very isolated and unsupported and unguided with Oscar of late, so finding a family a few years ahead of us like this is hugely helpful and comforting.
She said they even had a system they don’t use any more that we could borrow to see how/if Oscar utilises it.
This edible deliciousness has gone a long way to keeping me going and to make me smile and laugh each and every day:
Now, if he’d just stop waking at any or all of 11pm, 1 and 4am for a feed.
If he’d realise that 4.18 or 4.57 or 5.12am are not acceptable times to start the day,
I might just be a little less cranky with the UNIVERSE.