Archive for April, 2011
You walked off side by side, smiling at the grass and trees and sun.
This is your second spring. Last year at this time you could barely sit.
Today you ran off, shouting like little dew soaked warriers, arms spread wide and smiles stretched wider.
We stood behind you, slowly walking along, watching you grow up and grow out into the world.
We talked about how we loved you both, so much. How happy we are. How awesome you are.
This is not meant to mock Christians. More to say, why does our local government service supporting families with young children give away free Toddler Bible books – with no other alternatives – at playgroup? For every Christian holiday, but no others?
I walked home with two Indian mothers. One of them has a kid old enough to look at this page and think, ‘what the fuck.’ Well, maybe. She’s almost three.
This sort of thing makes me very uncomfortable. I don’t begrudge people celebrating the holidays they choose to celebrate. I intend to explore various religious and philosophical traditions with Snort and Coconut.
I just don’t like feeling smashed into the majority. It makes me feel closeted. And I handle it the way I handle being queer – I am open about who I am and what I do – or don’t – believe.
Not sure these books featuring pictures of a sad Jesus getting killed will be staying in our home.
I need my license. If you’ve been reading for awhile, you’ll know that I have had my driving license from Country A for 16 years. Almost 17. And that license? Non-transferable to Country B.
Country A’s attitude to driving, at least when I learned, was literally two driving lessons (with admonishments to keep up with the flow of traffic, even if that meant speeding), no practical test, and a theory/written test that featured questions like:
If a group of blind children are crossing the road, should you:
a) Speed up and scream out the window at them to get the hell out of the way.
b) Maintain your speed, but repeatedly flash your lights to let them know you are coming.
c) Slow and prepare to stop, making sure you don’t kill any kids.
Country B is a little more stick-up-the-butt. It requires a theory test (which is fairly hardcore), as well as a practical test that includes: knowing where shit is in the engine, being able to memorize a series of directions in a strange area and get to your destination, special maneuvers, and normal driving (with gears! GEARS.) Fine.
But maybe you bitches would like to put signs up with the speed limit every now and then. Just a suggestion. Otherwise hardened drivers like myself (who admittedly hasn’t driven in the ten years I’ve lived here) will speed the tiniest bit (multiple times) and ONE TIME not change gears when she should….thereby failing the test. And develop a phobia of ever trying again.
Hell, I’m getting chest pain just typing this.
Talking about it aloud literally makes me run for the toilet. If I want to avoid brown soup poop dripping down my legs, anyway.
Yeah, I get that everyone I’ve ever met failed the test at least once. Most people about three times. Fine. But I didn’t grow up with the attitude that failure was an expected and helpful way of life. Magazines here mercilessly rip celebs apart (how DARE they try to make something of themselves! Uppity whores! They will be destroyed by their own pride soon!), while magazines in Country A are like, ‘Come on!! You are better than the celebs. You should BE a celeb. Get off your ass and make your dreams happen, or stop fucking whining!!!’
All of this contributing to my heart wrenching three hour out-of-control sobfest when I failed my test. I rescheduled. The second test was snowed out (.5 of an inch on the grass, occasional icy bits. Did I mention I grew up driving in two feet of snow? I had the homecourt advantage!). I rescheduled. The third test was a week after I was run over at six weeks pregnant.
I didn’t bother to reschedule because I was paranoid the stress would cause pregnancy problems. And the universe clearly didn’t want my ass driving.
Turns out it would be nice to be a grown up again. As life stands, I can only go places within a five to ten minute walking radius – on a good day. We’re pretty effectively locked into a life that is beginning to drive me crazy. Don’t get me wrong – there are very few places I would go alone with 20 month (as of yesterday) toddlers, but there are some.
Plus we could do normal things like get the fuck out of the house, go to doctor’s appointments, walk around air conditioned stores, etc.
This weekend I thought I saw Chunk, my driving instructor, on the side of the road walking a dog. I pointed him out and TMD said, ‘It’s a sign. Call him. Get your fucking license.’ (Sounding like a Country A magazine a bit.) She then pointed out we were driving behind two learner drivers.
Yesterday a twin mama (they are grown up now and my EXACT age) from freecycle came by to drop off a little plastic table and chairs for the babies. She started talking about how she couldn’t drive when her twins were little and it was horrific, so ten years later when she had her next two kids (at my EXACT age), she decided to learn to drive because otherwise life was hell.
So she got her license at 33. I turn 33 in September. I’d like to have that fucker by then.
But either way, the universe probably won’t have any snow soon. And I’m unlikely to get run over because I never walk anywhere, and if I do I am now pretty conscientious about looking both ways before I cross the road (and am pounding that into Snort and Coconut).
So I emailed Chunk yesterday. Not heard back yet. I did get a call from an unknown number on my phone yesterday, but have been to puke scared to check if it was him and if he left a message. Come ON, though, I did suggest the best way to reach me was by text or email.
Maybe my driving phobia will evolve into social phobia as well. Ha. <— An attempt to be jovial, even as I will probably make Aussie check my voicemail for me today.
So. Operation Get A Life is in effect.I’m trying not to beat myself up with how I should have got the license before now, because summer would be an awesome time to already be driving. I’m trying to focus on the fact that I want Snort to start a football club soon, and Coconut gymnastics/dance. (Yes, gender stereotyping. Both will be doing both classes, but likewise Snort has a true love and freaky skill with ball-related sports, while Coconut has learned to climb a big soft block and summersalt off it!) Likewise I want to be able to get to home education meet ups, especially the group that meets in a different park or woodland each time.
Wish me luck.
Share stories of your horror driving tests and how you failed a million times and now it is all a distant memory. Please.
This past week I have been eating and eating and eating. <— This sentence was written Friday. It still stands now.
This was probably the worst week we, as a family and as individuals, have had. TMD’s job situation is weird, but needless to say she’s still in her ‘old’ management job at the minute and this week heralded them starting a new service. So she’s been slammed.
Snort has been teething – four teeth. Also sick. We’re talking week long fever, the slurpy poops, vomiting, refused to get in bath, refusing to sit in chair, refusing to eat, constantly needing to be held, weeping, lethargic, wan, sleeping at random times like he has narcolepsy, wheezing, breathing retractions, runny nose, coughing. And we all recall it’s only been three weeks since he had a four day stay in hospital. (Yes, he went to the hospital Friday. He’s on antibiotics twice a day now and will actually shove his fingers down his throat to make himself puke them up because he hates the taste so badly.)
Coconut has been sick too. She had the runny nose, coughing, chest congestion, and fever worse than Snort, but bounced back much more quickly. She spent the sicker part of her week screaming ‘NOOOOO’ constantly, jumping up and down in rage, hitting, crying. She is also teething.
To know how I am doing, you need only look at the three points above. I’ve been unable to cook or change nappies or anything without Snort screaming to be held. And then falling asleep, but unable to put him down. He wants to be cradled like a baby all the time….while Coconut is jealously hitting us and screaming NO.
TMD worked late every night.
Tuesday night I did baths (or should I say, one bath and one terrified screamfest of a naked boy banging on the bathroom door trying to escape) and bed, and they were just falling asleep when Snort went all Exorcist and puked and puked and puked and puked. I swear to baby jesus, I kicked them both out of their room and ushered them into the lounge where I sat them in front of the tv at 8 o’clock at night (this is never ever something that would happen), while I locked myself behind their babygate and picked up 207 half digested black olives from Coconut’s bed, used muslins and tissues and my socks to pick up/wipe more vomit. At one point I called TMD screaming about ‘Where are the goddamn sheets for the babies’ beds, goddamnit? Why are you so fucking late? WHERE ARE THE SHEETS??????????’
TMD’s birthday was Thursday.
By the time Thursday rolled around, I was a oozing mass of simmering resentment. TMD and I were not on The Same Page, I was sending mean texts (do you want to date me? Huh? DO YOU?), and TMD was getting all pale from being up all night with Snort and being run into the ground at work.
Friday afternoon I decided Snort needed to go to the hospital. TMD’s boss was PISSED (she’d had to leave an hour early on Thursday – her birthday, remember – because I was having something akin to a nervous breakdown) and asked if I couldn’t just take the babies to hospital on my own in a taxi.
Taxi with no car seats.
OH HELL NO. I WILL FIREBOMB YOUR HOUSE IF YOU TALK THIS KIND OF SMACK TO ME.
TMD called me crying as she drove home, we got back on The Same Page, and things are better. Snort’s antibiotics have turned his poop into grainy sludge diarhea, which is AWESOME. Coconut’s teething has ramped up a notch and she’s bitten him about 52 times today. I went depresso sad about having No Appropriately Sized Clothes For The Hot Weather.
Yes. I also had Bowen yesterday which appears to have angered my SPD which is EVEN MORE AWESOME.
It’s been a good week. Yeah. A week so truly tiring and scary and angry and feverish and FULL OF MEDICINES that it makes me want to hit the caps lock key and just keep it real. IN ALL CAPS.
Tomorrow TMD goes back to work and I am left with Snort’s fever meds, antibiotics (though truly think I’ll have to wait for TMD because it’s impossbile to give alone), and wrestling with him to give him inhalers every four hours to prevent the wheezing from getting worse. Not to mention the shits so terrible that he requires washclothes and being dumped in the bath (after a four day bath strike, he did bathe last night!). Not to mention that while this is happening, Coconut is crying her little heart out asking to be held.
Twins are amazing. But also? Twins can be like….well, exactly like what’s been written here. You devote 100% to each kid because both are sick. And they’re still both babies, really. It’s hard, very hard.
To end on a good note:
I have just purchased slightly discounted brand new Crocs for Snort. Of course this brings guilt that Coconut will be walking around in secondhand ugly coloured ones.
I also cut his aging rockstar hair. It looks crazy good. I might have people bring their kids to my house so I can hack at their hair for reduced prices.
Also: a determination. I gained a lot of weight last week. Like 3-5 pounds, depending on how you want to look at it. So as of yesterday I was back to a 32 pound loss. I’ll say it here: I want to be at a 52 pound loss by mid-late June. So twenty pounds needs to go from yesterday’s weight. I realise this is a high weight loss target. I’ve not done the maths, really, but am pretty sure it will require at least a pound lost each week.
I’ve downloaded a Drink Your Water Or Your Phone Will Berate You app, so will be drinking more, eating less….and hopefully moving more. But hopefully that moving will be lightly tripping through my own garden in floaty skirts and funky shirts (all secondhand ebay shit I am bidding on today!)…..not screaming down the phone as a child vomits heavily onto my lap, while another child is hitting me as I cry.
Because that sucks.
I was going to write about how I am burnt out. And I am.
Instead I’ll say I am packing a hospital bag as Snort will be going in to get checked out this afternoon. I hope he’s fine and is home tonight or tomorrow morning at latest.
Now I’m burnt out AND worried. Sigh.
I just used a dustbuster to clean potting soil out of Coconut’s hair.
…yes, that’s all.
Were you at the park today with a racist ex-stripper who demonstrated pole dancing techniques on the playground equipment? No? Are you sure?
And then you came home, and she smoked a big ol’ cigarette before pitching the butt over the hedge? While your daughter watched her litter?
Oh, that wasn’t you? It must have been me.
‘Poop, poop,’ does not always translate as:
Mother, I appeared to have sullied my nappy with crap. Can you please change me, because the feeling is simply dreadful.
Sometimes it means:
Mother, I know you are changing my sibling’s nappy at the minute, but look! I’ve just found my nappy you just changed me out of. And look! There is poop in it. Poop, poop! I will open the nappy and accidentally dump the poop onto our cream carpet and then get distressed.