In brief

On Monday I went to my Dad and stepmother’s for a mini-break with the boys.

Last time I went I just loaded their internet connection and off we went.

This time, after several hours, there was no way their system was going to let my system play.

Bastard.

And then the mini-break turned into five days.

It was great! It’s not like we did anything exotic but you know, living the day-to-day somewhere else is always refreshing.

It did, however, bring swift short shrift to my dalliance with doing the 365 blogging thing.

Hah. What a joke. Lasted all of THREE days.

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There were further family ‘issues’ in the middle  of it with mum but after many tears that was eradicated.

In a nutshell, she has reached the point where she simply does not want anything to do with my father. At all. Ever again.

My reaction to this has been mixed – featuring a smattering of empathy and understanding with a fair swig of bewilderment and confusion (we have lived in the same house for 10 years and for the better part of the last 8 my Dad and stepmother have come here for the boys’ birthdays etc when mum has also been present) and – admittedly – a few heaving spoonfuls of ‘fucking get over it’.

Then, in my brief interlude back into the city on Wednesday to see my shrink, my mind was cleared. My psychiatrist explained to me that certain events and experiences put down a level/foundation/bed of pain and damage in a person that it is fair, reasonable and possible they might never recover from. And that is OK.

Furthermore, he is of the professional opinion and advice that when a person does/says things within particular categories to you, you have full and total permission to never ever let that person back into your life.

The other people who are impacted by that just basically have to man up, make adjustments and allowances and respect that position.

I am not going into the whole sordid history of my parents – it is neither my place nor my desire to do so. But let’s just say Mum is sitting firmly in both these camps.

Cue immense guilt for what she has done over the last decade to make it easier for me blahdeblahblabhblah. Don’t worry, I’m not dwelling on it, that was as much her choice as it was my desire.

It’s been quite revelationary actually.

My heart is also heavy with just how I am now going to ‘manage’ four children’s birthday parties and various other gatherings but so be it. Say la vie as some would say.

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Meanwhile, Grover still appears to have nits, I suspect Jasper does too and after a new treatment program tonight (the proper one from my legend hairdresser) I know that Oscar and Felix both had one tiny louse each and an egg each. Awesome.

Tomorrow I will tackle the little fellas, it was too late and they were beyond it tonight.

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The car had to be registered today. Holy crap what a delightful way to haemorrhage even more money. Sheesh.

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Yesterday I was out at the pool with the boys and when i returned indoors saw several missed calls from Chef. I kinda knew what it was about.

When he answered he said, ‘So, would you like to speak to the new Head Chef of Danks St Depot‘.

OH YES HE IS.

So very proud and so very happy for him.

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I am going to say this out loud and totally jinx myself, but these holidays are flying by. Can you believe we’ve only got three weeks left? That three weeks have already been? I am now a firm advocate for going to the beach to swallow whole chunks of time. For FREE!

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NOW, something important.

I am about to launch Team Oscar: helping one boy be the best he can be

The goal:

To raise the funds(approx $4,800) for Oscar to attend the incredibly awesome special needs high school St Edmund’s.

The plan:

1. 10kms in 10 weeks.
At the end of last year I went from sitting on my increasingly lardy arse to running for 30 minutes and losing 6 kilos in 9 weeks. So – now I’m setting myself the goal of running from half an hour to running 10kms in 10 weeks. (obviously wanting to lose more weight as well but my focus here is the 10kms.) You can all take bets sponsor me. You’re welcome.

2. Buy the t-shirt.
It’ll have something like Team Oscar on the front and helping one boy be the best he can be on the back, with my blog address because I’m a publicity whore I want people to do the curiosity-click and then donate money.

They will probably be purple w/ white writing – or maybe black with purple writing. Purple is, as many of you know, Oscar’s favourite colour.

Just be grateful it won’t feature an iron-on transfer of some WWE wrestlers on it.

Anyone know of a good t-shirt manufacture for such shenanigans I would be grateful for the lead/intro.

3. Online auction
This is where I’m going to need some help – I have no idea how to run such a thing or what to auction (some of you – Corrie I’m looking at you) have already offered to donate items but really, I still have no idea how to run such a thing.

aaand – that’s it so far.

I’d love your thoughts and ideas for other ways we can get our boy (and keep him there) to St Eddie’s.

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And listen, while we’re talking about fundraising, one of the lovely blogging ladies I follow here in Australia is undergoing immense strain and trauma at the moment with her husband in intensive care and the situation looking anything other than grim. The Aussie Mum Bloggers have stepped up and are raising some funds to help her through the next few weeks.

Donate over at Glowless while I try and make the widget work for me here.

Just shocking.

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Ummm, I think that’s it so far. Anyone still with me?

Onward!

Tick, tick, tick … TICK

It was only a matter of time before the NSW Health Dept covertly set us up as a human petrie dish of infectious diseases to see just how long some ills would kick on while others would just up and mutate themselves to oblivion. On Sunday Felix informed me that he had this ‘weird rash‘. Now if they aren’t two words a parent just loves to hear.

Sure enough, on his left leg, the good leg, the non-gashed leg, the one without the staples there is a plethora (a gang?, a mob?, a menagerie?) of bites which his body is angrily reacting to by developing a whopping great welt running from his groin to his hip. Awesome. A trip to the chemist and $50 later I’m doping him up, soaking him down and smothering him in creams all the while wondering what the hell it was. Ticks? No, they like to burrow into your flesh. Sand flies? Would make sense if we’d been at the beach, which we hadn’t because of the last freakin’ incident.   Some sort of mite? OH.DEAR.GOD.

I’d already been rabidly systematically trying to cleanse the house of every shred of evidence of the previous six weeks of holiday hell but now, NOW the world was going to smite me with some sort of bug? Body lice? SCABIES? SERENITY.NOW!

On Monday I had the same sort of bites in the same sort of area and was seriously considering some sort of commercial grade highly toxic make-my-children-sterile cleaner to rid us of this horror. Oscar had three bites on him and I was terrified the hospital would see them and quarantine us. Actually, come to think of it, that would have been quite lovely. Anyway, Jasper had a couple of marks on his face which suspiciously looked similar but had nowhere near the angriness in them or raised nature. I was thinking his were more likely to be mozzie bites, of which we have experienced PLAGUE-LIKE proportions this year as well. Grover seemed to have escaped this ignominy and Chef was oh-so-smugly bite free. Apparently because he washes.

Then yesterday morning Grover and I were up quite early and were just mooching around together when I noticed two tiny black dots on his face and one one his neck. I knew instantly that they were ticks even though every other tick I’ve ever had to pull off the boys has been a more greyish-pink colour and certainly not three of them and certainly not so small.

Then I looked at me and lo, it came to pass, I had was is technically called an ‘infestation’. Did you just gag then? Yes. I too have a sensitive gag reflex. So you try looking down and seeing your upper thigh covered in tiny black dots which are a tiny little ugly creature sucking your blood. UNFOLLOW.

All told I have about 30 bites on me and pulled about 16 ticks off me yesterday. Jasper had a big one which had lodged just at his hairline (where I normally associate ticks with) and I found another couple on Felix.

Ticks do not have great mobility so it stands to reason that Felix and I were the main targets due to our proximity in terms of dealing with his allergic reaction to them and the whole other knee needing dressing changes etc and that I am physically affectionate (I KNOW!) towards my children. Jasper and Grover were the next in line due to the amount of time they spend attached to my hip, leg, lap, being, soul. I’m surprised Oscar didn’t get more because he’s always all over me like a rash and well, the fact Chef has not had one probably says alot about the amount of lovin’ or lack thereof going on in this house at the moment.

Now while I have you all recoiling from your computer screens, the northern beaches of Sydney are notorious for ticks, particularly once you go passed the Bilgola Bends. Sure, Avalon has a delightful community atmosphere but it is Tick Central.

We are suspecting that Felix probably picked them up at cricket training last Thursday or even at cricket on Saturday morning and then the rest of the events unfolded from there.

The ticks we had are commonly referred to as grass ticks and having a multitude of them on you is not uncommon. Mum, as a child, once had 168 on her from a day spent rolling down a hill. Probably on her way home from school walking those six miles in bare feet through the snow.

They are in fact not grass ticks but the very early stages of a tick in its maturity. Isn’t this interesting.

Regardless, the lawn is now cut to within an inch of it’s life, everyone is sleeping in newly-washed bedding, my vacuuming fetish has returned with heightened zeal, the guinea pigs have been washed and vindicated as the culprits and I may just fall down in a heap one of these days and watch some midday television if the planets align. Or some such.

Onward!