Archive for January, 2012

Every day offers new gifts to your vagina.

January 29, 2012

Last Thursday I had an appointment with my physio, and mentioned in passing that I’ve peed myself while sneezing a lot lately. The next thing I know, she’s cocking her head and saying thoughtfully, ‘Yes, I think you could do with The Educator.’

Then she’s reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a little white package. In it is a tiny little dildo type thing, and three little sticks that hook together and attach to the dildo. You stick it in your vagina, and then when you do a pelvic floor squeeze, it makes the little stick dip down. This way you can see you’re doing it right, and also see how long you can properly hold those muscles before the stick begins to bob back up again.

Life is full of many gifts. The Educator is just one of them.

Don’t be jealous. I know your day of unexpected gift receiving is still on the horizon, and when it comes, your socks will be knocked right off.


No lie.

January 28, 2012

Fuck. Just had two valuations of our flat, and I suspect we’re going to book a third for early next week because I have an inability to pick between the first two estate agents. I sometimes feel like I was more of a grown up when I was nineteen.

I’d just moved into my first flat, with my ever glowing sister of the soul, Cookie. And by twenty? I was in my fourth and final year of university, living in the same flat but with two gay boys and a sometimes girlfriend. And a sometimes TMD. I was the fucking boss of that place, man. Never mind that both boys split the rent – it was MY apartment. It’s just how it was.

And while I never ever cleaned, I was in charge of bills. I was a grown up.

At twenty-two or twenty-three, I was the director of a large summer camp. Yeah. The lives of 60 staff and 2,000 campers were in my hands, and I never blinked. That shit was like breathing. Easy peasy.

So here I am, some ten years later, and I’m probably not going to be able to sleep as my brain explodes from worry. We’d be better off financially if we’d never bought this place and just rented for the last four years. Yes, renting is throwing away money. But you know what else is throwing away money? Buying a flat when you’re going to be there for a short period, especially when it’s worth less than it was when you bought it. All the solicitors fees, estate agent fees, decline in housing market – ah, yes, it’s the wonder world of hindsight.

Except I love this flat. Really, really love it.

Now if only I could grow some courage and manage to figure out how to choose which estate agent to go with.

On a related (?) note, I am striving for the life I/we want. I’ve entered a ‘I just don’t give a shit’ phase of my life that allows me to donate clothes that I have been holding onto for memory’s sake for about fifteen years. Including my first peach coloured negligee. Yes, I just don’t give a shit.

I do give a shit in the worry stakes – is it the right thing to move? Are we going to lose all our money? How can we possibly afford this mortgage once we have moved?

In the big picture, though, Snort discovered Mr Potato Head tonight and thinks it’s the greatest thing ever. And we took the kids into the city today, and Coconut danced to live classical music. So on the family front, things are good, gooder, goodest. I have to remember that, even as we try and try to be grown up enough to handle negotiating fees, dealing with keeping the place clean(ha!) all the time for viewings, and getting rid of even more stuff we don’t need.

Weird how I long for those days when I was dealing with a camp van being stolen, the office being broken into, a camper being abducted and taken into a neighboring country. It all seemed much easier.

Moving house….peeing….whatever.

January 27, 2012

So, we’re moving. And I’m totally not grown up enough to sell this flat.

It’s a fairly major move, to another part of the country. All of TMD’s parents live there – though FIL (my father in law) is basically giving us his house and he’ll be moving about an hour and a half away to live with his partner. He’ll come spend the night once a week or so. I’m not an ungrateful sow, but I do wish he’d sell his house, invest his money for his future, and give us a bit so we can buy a house we actually want. He is redoing his house – new carpet, windows, paint, bathrooms, etc – and it is a nice house. Four bedrooms, big garden! I am just so not a city/suburban woman.

We might live in a small two bedroom flat now, but our back garden is expansive, with a path leading down to a huge park, woods, and yet more countryside. I’m all about the trees, yo. All about the trees.

Still, the area we’re moving to is nice, and there is lots of green space nearby – just a bit bummed that we’ll have to drive to it rather than our back door opening to it.

We plan to move pretty fucking soon – end of March. We have a lot to do before then. Step one was getting our wobbly toilet fixed yesterday, which necessitated both adults in the house pooping in children’s potties today before dumping it in a big bucket which is currently covered with cling film and in the bathtub. It’s all glamourous here.

(Sidenote: for some reason, my grandmother essentially lived in her basement – as most of my extended family does. Not in a weird ‘put the lotion in the basket’ kind of way, but in a cozy, comfortable ‘this one giant room is all we need, sod the rest of the house’ sort of way. When we were little, she showed us how to pee in a special red pot (like the sort you boil water and cook things in!) rather than walking all the way upstairs to pee. She did it, so we did too. Might have had something to do with her arthritis, or maybe¬† my family are crazier than I think. So ANYWAY. The point of this sidenote was to say I felt perfectly happy peeing in a bucket last night and this morning.)

Our new house – I have to try to start thinking of it that way, rather than as FIL’s house – has a bathroom downstairs and upstairs. So we can all pee without climbing stairs or resorting to using kitchenware to help us void our bladders.

I have the feeling I got off topic somewhere…

Who feels sorry for who, now?

January 26, 2012

Today after swimming, we were in the change room with another mum and her two year old son.

‘Are they twins?’ she asked, nodding at Snort and Coconut. When I said yes, she continued, ‘Boy, do I feel sorry for YOU.’

I said something about how we had a lot of fun, and she said, ‘Fun?’ like she’d never heard the word before.

I left there thinking that I feel sorry for her. Sorry that she isn’t really enjoying her child (at least on this particular day), sorry that she imagines having another to be a horrible, hard thing to deal with.

I’m tired, yo. I’m tired and achy and am trying to figure out how to claw back some time for me. But I do have FUN. And I love my kids; I stand by what I’ve said since day one of knowing I was going to have twins. Twins are fucking awesome.


January 20, 2012

Have an appointment at the breast clinic on the 31. Sort of worried about it though I’m sure everything will be fine.

Sorry for scarcity of normal blog posts. I never have time or energy to open the laptop. I’m unwell now, so may spend the whole weekend in bed and if I do, you guys and my blog will be the first ones to know it.



January 19, 2012

Geographic tongue.
My injections have worn off.
I have no fatigue diseases.

How do you all get a break? I need to write a longer post about this, about the specifics of why I ask. I think I need the actual laptop for that though; my phone just won’t cut it.

This is my tongue.

January 16, 2012


I’ve had this on and off since childhood. A white tongue that then gets ‘holes’ where the pink flesh shows through. Is this thrush?

On a side note, I only noticed my freaky tongue tonight because I have a very side throat, and I don’t just think it is from my uncontrollable slug related screaming this morning.

Sorry you had to see this picture. Hope it did not make you sick. But WTF is wrong with my tongue? The one time I had accupuncture they looked at my tongue. Any of you people tongue doctors?

We get our kicks where we can.

January 13, 2012

I’m at the hospital waiting for a blood draw. Went to the doctor for a couple of things, one of which is extreme exhaustion. So I’m getting a complete blood count and tests for diabetes, thyroid problems, my liver, and something else I don’t remember.

The doctor suggested the problem is probably the chronic exhaustion of caring for twins. Judging from how excited I am to have a big solo trip to the doctor AND the hospital – I’m positively perky – she may be correct.

How to fake lose a child.

January 5, 2012


I thought I lost Snort at the pool today. Turns out he was in locker 18.

We were getting undressed, I put my backpack in a locker (number 3, since you ask), and when I turned around he was gone.

I’m all, ‘Snort? Snort, where are you?’ My eyes scan.

I then end up jogging to the pool and scanning the water while still calling for him, when a merry little voice says, ‘Here he is! I found Snort, Mama. Here he is.’

I go back to Coconut and she still appears to be alone. She grins and points at the locker.

Yeah, dude. I applaud your stealth and speed.