New Favourite

She has rich girl hair.

A pox

I was sick last week. I know, I’m quite certain you are as surprised as I was. I don’t tend to get sick, and I’m not saying that in the irritating way of those people who really do have the constitution of an ox and don’t even get headcolds. Apart from fairly constant sinus issues and the occasional cold my health is what I would term robust. So when I felt queasy cleaning up Jasper’s vomit that he had presented over the entire bathroom floor (sure the bathroom is not big but still, vomit.) I just put it down to the curious maternal duty that is cleaning up someone else’s chuck.

But then I had a sip of water to wash down the tablets to make my thyroid try and function (come on buddy, you can do it) and my whole stomach seized. I knew I was in trouble. I got lunches made for those going to school and got them off to school. It was walking in from the car where my whole body went into some sort of slow-motion collapse. I could feel the temperature descend and my whole body felt like lead. This wasn’t going to be pretty. You see, I am nothing if not committed, so if I’m going to vomit

Poor Jasper and I just lay in my bed shivering then sweating, occasionally tearing to the bathroom. I don’t need to go into details like hot-stinky-water-shooting-from-my-arse or wetting-my-pants-every-time-I-vomitted but needless to say it was not pleasant for anyone involved. Blessedly the spewing ended after about 24 hours but the next 24 were filled with rainbows and unicorns due to hallucinatory dreams from a raging temperature and extreme lethargy.

I dreamt my friend and her mum, then on a cruise from hell which involved the ice machine breaking, the lifts not working, not enough shore boats working (which double as life boats so you know, alarming) and then one of the engines packing it in. Just a side note, the idea of no ice is what disturbs me most about that reality. See also: not sane. Anyway, I dreamt that her mum was so convinced there was going to be a gastro outbreak on the ship (probably just hours away if you take it all into account) so started secretly stockpiling toilet paper rolls from Day 1. By the end of the trip, with gastro avoided, the cleaner opened the cupboard to be thrown back by a collapsing wall of dunny rolls.

Then there was the one where I ate rotting road kill off the Wakehurst Parkway. Why I would dream something so macabre when I couldn’t even stomach water is, I hope, indicative of how febrile I was?

Not satisfied with the general unwellness I got a case of the sads, feeling I would never recover and all was hopeless with the world. We can be safely reassured by the fact two days later I was eating blue cheese so that penchant for melodrama was dealt with nicely.


New Favourite

My love of Will Ferrell is well documented. I’m late to the Jimmy Fallon fan club but he really is all shades of great.

Kookaburras at night

I’ve suffered terribly from leg cramps for much of the last year and yes, struggled on. I may be the first person to suffer severe cramp from excessive sitting as opposed to exercise. On the advice of my BIL who is firmly indoctrinated into the cult of ka.ra.te I’ve picked up some magnesium powder instead of the largely ineffective tablets. Good Lord this stuff is vile. It’s like drinking a vitamin C tablet, you know the ones, those you’d steal as a kid for the sour/sweet hit as you ate them. Again, struggling on.

These summer holidays are drawing to a close and may be notched up as my laziest. I blamed our home-bound-ness firstly on Oscar’s daily nurse visit. This was largely acceptable due to them arriving sometime around noon. Of course we could have mooched over to the beach in the afternoon but that would have interfered with my napping. And this doesn’t explain the last third of the holiday so let’s move on.

Felix has fine-tuned his holiday program with a conviction I hope to see in his schoolwork this year cough. He seems to stay up until 4am-ish gaming on his pc and then sleeps until mid-afternoon. I’m sniggering at just how much the back-to-school reality is going to bite him on the arse.

Movies seen: Penguins of Madagascar, The Hobbit, Big Hero 6,  The Imitation Game (brilliant. I don’t get the Benedict Cumberbatch hysteria but he is bloody marvellous here) and Birdman (weird, brilliant if you view it as an insight into a schizophrenic mind. And Edward Norton is brilliant.).

The family realignment sees me cut free each Monday evening. This came about by necessity as if I stayed the boys gravitated to me and I ended up making dinner and completing all other nightly duties. So now I disembark. Last week I had mixed feelings about this and then, over a frozen margarita and some fish tacos, reminded myself how I used to yearn for such a reality. Now I either loiter at friends’ houses eating cheese and drinking champagne, sometimes cocktails, or buy the biggest bucket of popcorn and sit in a darkened cinema for a couple of hours. Last week I drove home and as I was fretting over just what may go wrong this year I spotted some kookaburras sitting on the overhead wires. Laughter in the black of night.

My wretched Ilve oven has packed it in once again. Last repairs cost something like $700. Cue hand ringing. To replace it I need a 900mm oven and all the ones I can find on the market are that width but not the height, so I’d need someone to come in build a frame around it. It all makes my head hurt quite frankly, on top of the fact the repair service I want to use (NOT the one I used last time) will not return my (many) calls. Things logged to be made: macaroni cheese, bacon and cheese scrolls, cinnamon buns.

School uniforms have been bought, shoes purchased, shopping done. I am simultaneously yearning for school to begin and mourning the end of sleep-ins and abject laziness. The likelihood of hearing my 6am alarm? Negligible. Likelihood of waking in a panic at 6:47 when Oscar’s bus arrives at 7:05? Stratospheric.

That is all.



Challenging times. Again.

Oscar is back in hospital with the same infection in the same leg. The exciting development this time around was he developed (he had?) sepsis – which is what they call septic now. Just to keep us all on our toes he ended up in the domain of machines that go ping, ICU.

He wasn’t there for long, I’m unsure if that was because he got better or because they were as skeeved out about his “incontinent stools” as I was. Nothing tests your maternal ties more than incontinent diarrhea, particularly when it happens all over a bare mattress, in the emergency waiting room (“nurse, you’ll need to wipe down that chair”) or in emergency (“I keep wiping but you’re not stopping” as you witness a squirt of liquid mustard “incontinent stool” then burned.onto.your.retinas). Finally the adult nappies came into action and sweet baby cheeses I bowed to them in all their depressing reality.

You still with me?

We’ve clocked up a week so far and there seems no end in sight. Everything seems to happen in polaroid snapshots.

The well-intentioned but idiot paediatric registrar who relatively late last night tried to show his authority around the processes we’re currently going through. Fuck off buddy, we’ve been here before.

The same cars in the carpark – the fancy shiny brand new Range Rover, two identical mini Coopers, another transporter like ours, a huge country ute with serious storage gear on its tray, wicked spotties and mud on the wheels. Once you’re sick it doesn’t matter what car you drive.

The confusing reality of your man-child. In a paed ward when really he should be in an adult one. Having to help put his penis in a wee bottle. That hairiest of hairy arses. Showering him. This is the hardest thing of all.

Confounding doctors. You don’t ever want to be the case that confounds doctors.

The only good news in this is that he is getting better.

The reality is IV antibiotics for another 4-6 weeks. We’re not going home until his elephant leg looks totally like a normal one. We’ve already been here a week. They want us to see the orthopaedic specialist who operated on his feet. The thought, the merest suggestion he might have to have surgery again makes me want to eat my own head.

I don’t think he’s going to make it back to school this year.

I have an overwhelming urge to bake.





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