Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Bacon. Work trip. Periods. The Spill. Also, bacon.

Good day to you Loungers. Welcome. I hope you are all well.  Feel free to rest your politics-weary bones on our comfy couches, and pour yourself a snifter of scotch. You know Julia would.

Today we are freestyling it! Sort of. Link up any post you like! AS LONG AS IT HAS THE MAGICAL KEYWORD OF MAGIC IN IT.

Today's keyword is: BACON.

I will also accept FACON. For the vege-matarians out there.

I have been busily busying it up working mother style recently so it's all been quiet on the blog front. I had a trip out to Dalby for work which was alternately interesting, freezing, boring, exhausting, aggravating, titillating, confusing, and weird.

Anyway I got to wear a hard hat, steel capped boots and a high vis vest so ALL WAS NOT IN VAIN.

Here's some scenery.

Here I am in my glad rags taking selfies in my motel room before dinner.

Here are my steel capped boots.

Here is my vest and helmet. And slightly crazed expression.

I had been quite looking forward to the trip because, well, you know, KIDS and STRESS and NIGHT AWAY. And yeah, I'm not going to lie to you, that was pretty good. I missed the little blighters though, what with P's recent health dramas I felt a bit nervy about it all. Also I am still breastfeeding Baby B. Who, frankly, is fast becoming Toddler B. So I was worried about my boobs.  Also (and look I don't mean to be CRUDE or INDISCREET or whatever but look we're all girls here. Actually no we aren't. I do apologise.) but I also had, um, rather a HEAVY MENSTRUAL FLOW GOING ON.

So what with my exploding boobs and the traipsing around in the bush with limited access to the loo I WAS A BIT ANXIOUS.  If I could devise a hashtag for my experience of the trip it would be #shitmendonothavetoworryabout

Still I managed with a smile on my face and a spring in my steel capped boots. Because I am a PROFESSIONAL.

In an unrelated segway, it would be remiss of me not to mention the ole Spill tonight.  For the international punters, the Australian Labor Party chucked over the PM Julia Gillard for Evil Machiavellian Genius Kevin Rudd tonight. What a palava. High emotion, people.

It's hard to express my feelings in words, but in an attempt to do just that I have chosen the format of an acrostic poem. Using the word bacon. SEE WHAT I DID THERE?

Bon voyage Julia, our first female Prime Minister
Although her time with us is done because of men most sinister
Convoys of cleavage, misogyny speeches, all of these things couldn't rattle her
Often she was criticized by shock jocks like Howard Sattler
Now Rudd is back. Don't eff it up Kev, or Bill Shorten will have you killed.

(OK that doesn't rhyme but you all know it's true).

Over to you, bacon lovers. I can smell the crackling from here.

Monday, June 24, 2013

Coloured tights on The Shake

Hello fashionistas! Here's my latest offering on the Fashions! Check out my tips on embracing your inner toddler and donning a coloured tight!

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Ranting with The Lounge

Hi everyone. I am so disorganised that I have left my post for The Lounge to the utter last minute. And doing so has meant that, because me laptop is having a spack attack, I am going to have blog from my phone. I know. I am living on the edge. Somebody stop me!

Because blogging from the phone is as time consuming and laborious as turfing your own backyard on a steamy January day, this will be short and sweet. I can hear your sighs of relief from here.

The topic today is Ranting and Raving.

Baby B knows it isn't healthy to keep it all inside. LET IT OUT LET IT OUT LET IT OUT!!!


I will adopt my dot point blogging proforma for this post, what with the short and sweet goal.

Ok. Deep breath. Out with anger, in with cupcakes. I mean scones. I mean love. Yeah, love. Not those other things. Although I do confuse food with love, we all know that already.

- On my drive into Brisbane for work, there is a long stretch of the motorway that has signs up saying 80km/hour, because there are apparently "no lane markings". This enrages me beyond measure for multifarious reasons. Firstly, because I am as law abiding a citizen as they come, I do 80km/hour. I abide by the limit. I pootle along, even though the normal limit is 110. I do what i am told, people. I do what I am told.

- My issue is that I am the ONLY person who does this. I crawl along at a granny pace while all around me agro P platers, semi trailers, soccer mums and tradies in utes hoon past me at a rate of knots. It makes me so angry I could...why, I could  just about scream! I clench the steering wheel in rage with the veins in my neck popping out in sympathy. WTF people!!!?? Why you no drive at the speed limit??? I know it is tortuously slow but I don't make the rules! I hate you all!

- My rage is compounded because although the speed limit is reduced as a result of an alleged absence of lane markings, this, my friends, is patently untrue. There are freaking lane markings! There are! I can see them! Ok, I will admit that there is a tiny section devoid of lane markings, but 99% of the 80 zone is marked and ready for action. What the hell? Did they leave the signs out by accident? Is it a prank? Am I being punk'd by Ashton Kutcher? You little shit I'm onto you!

My already stressful commute is rendered almost intolerable by this stretch of road.

It is a bloody scandal and an outrage.

There are starving children, an entire Australian election campaign functioning in a policy vacuum and asylum seekers rotting in detention centres, but for ME the BIG ISSUE IS RIGHT HERE.

MY LIFE IS ALREADY SO HARD WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO MAKE IT HARDER? I mean, I'm well educated, middle class, white, with a loving husband, two cute kids and a house in the suburbs. What a hard freaking life!


Is your life made dreadful and intolerable by inexplicable road signage and thoughtless drivers?

Do tell old friends!

Monday, June 17, 2013

Workin' and commutin'

Hi everyone. Thanks for your nice comments on this post about my little girl P. I'm hoping all is behind us, so I can focus on the TRULY BIG ISSUES OF THE DAY. LIKE THIS!

Sigh. My life is so hard. I don't know if you guys know this about me, but I am not independently wealthy and I have to...I know, I can hardly say it...WORK for a living.


Where is my tennis court? My swimming pool? Further to that, where is my Swimming Pool Boy? How come I don't get to spend all day sipping Pimms and reading on the banana lounge?

It's a cruel twist of fate that I have ended up this way.

Yeah yeah I know there are starving kids in Africa and unemployed types round the place but STILL. WORKING FOR THE MAN HEY? WHO INVENTED THAT?

Not. Fair.

Ugh I mean I know I am freaking lucky to have a job. And yeah it's two days a week and has flexible working hours and is paid well and matches my qualifications perfectly. Yeah yeah so what?



I can't seem to focus at work at the moment. M and I are ALWAYS LATE.  I have a really long commute and I EFFING HATE IT.

I've been doing this gold darn commute for bleedin' years and years and I've felt the whole time that it was a temporary thing. BUT IT ISN'T! UGH. Thank goodness it is only two days a week - any more and it would KILL ME. KILL ME I TELL YOU!

I have a carpark at work so these days I drive. For some ridiculous reason I have NEVER, like NEVER been organized enough to get my hands on any books on tape for the drive. I have friends and acquaintances who do a similar commute and are making their way through the Modern Classics at a rate of knots. I am just killing my brain with commercial radio. Dumber by the kilometre. If that's possible.

I have experimented with other modes of transport over the years. I used to catch the train quite a bit but it's such a rigmarole. Queensland is not know for its commitment to public transport. UNDERSTATEMENT. To get to the train station I have to drive 10 minutes. Then wait for the train. Then catch the train which takes over an hour. Then walk over the river from the train station which takes another 15 minutes. I NEED A SHOWER AND A LIE DOWN AND A SECOND BREAKFAST AFTER THAT I CAN TELL YOU!  Generally speaking I prefer to be stuck in traffic in my own car than at the mercy of Queensland Rail. Particularly with a full bladder. And 90% chance that the train loo will be broken. And the train station one too. OH GOD THE AGONY.

Also the high probability of being trapped in the carriage with a group of teenagers talking about BOYS and OTHER GIRLS and MUSIC is even worse than the pain of the full bladder. Oh give me a full bladder any day. Anything rather than suffer through the interminable and dimwitted convos of the youth of today.

The train trip was made slightly more palatable once I got my first Ipod. It was quite the thing! It didn't matter what shite the Young People spouted I was able to exist in my own bubble. And don't give me that "Oh back in my day we all used to talk to each other and have singalongs and play cards together on the train and knit each other sweaters and share Christmas Pudding together" because I'm Not Buying It. 

I have to say though that the Ipod situ did end in tears once though. This would only happen to me.

One morning I couldn't find my headphones so I stole M's new fancy ones. They were that type that you sit right into your ear canal. Noise canceling ear hook thingos or some such.

I tried them on at home and they were a bit fiddly. I had to twist and jiggle them to get them in right but I did it eventually. Pleased with my find I shoved them in the bag and headed to the train.

Once I got on I found a spot and sat down, grabbing my ear phones and shoving them in. They felt uncomfortable and like they weren't in properly, so I kept gently twisting them every now and then, until they seemed to be in position.
 I sat for while, gazing blankly out the window, ignoring the awkward fact my knees were gently touching those of the man facing me, until I felt a weird movement and realized the ear phone had fallen out of one ear and was hanging free.

But hang on! I could still feel something inside my ear? I had a bad feeling about it all.  I gingerly put my finger into my ear and BINGO! The ear bud had come away and lodged itself firmly in my ear canal!

I panicked. But only on the inside. Because EMBARRASSING! I looked furtively around to see if anyone was watching, and gently probed my passage again (what? get your mind out of the gutter).  Nothing doing. Panicked, I poked harder, which only served to shove it in further.


I restrained myself and put my hands in my lap. Shit a brick. There was another 40 minutes of the trip to go and I was stuck there on the train with an ear bud pushed half way into my brains. What the HELL WAS I GOING TO DO?

I tried to formulate a plan. I was SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE but remained poker faced. You would never have known my inner turmoil.

OK. When I get to the train station I am going to RUN ALL THE WAY TO WORK and then get one of the security guards to help pull it out.  NO! NO! Shit! I can't do that. The security guards are my NEMESES and I can't let them see my WEAKNESS! I will never hear the end of it. They will taunt me forever and dob me in for accidentally stealing a Visitors Pass. They already hate me DON'T GIVE THEM ANY FODDER! Should I ring M? Shit he can't help. Should I pull the emergency cord? Yes! I think I should. OK I'M GOING TO GET UP AND PULL THE CORD! OMG THIS IS TOTALLY AN EMERGENCY! I AM TOTALLY GOING TO DO THIS. IF THIS ISN'T AN EMERGENCY I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS!!

OK. OK. Hang on. Hang on. No it isn't. Calm down CALM DOWN! OK.

This is what you will do. You will get off at Central. You will WALK QUICKLY TO THE NEAREST MEDICAL CENTRE. And they will extract the ear bud. And you will then proceed to work and nobody will be any the wiser.

OK. So I did just that. The 40 minutes felt like 10 hours. Finally I got off at central and bolted to the nearest medical centre, as per the plan.

I came panting up to the receptionist.

"Please!" I gasped, disheveled and wild eyed. "Please, I need to see a doctor. NOW! IT IS AN EMERGENCY! I HAVE AN EAR PHONE STUCK IN MY HEAD!"

The girl rolled her eyes.

"There are no appointments available. You will have to go down to our sister medical centre, on A___ St."

Just my luck. I turned and ran like the wind to the other medical centre, and repeated my panicked plea for assistance.  As luck would have it, a kindly GP saw me straight away, and extracted the offending ear bud with a set of long thin tweezers. And he managed to keep a straight face.

"Oh THANK YOU!" I gushed afterwards. "OH, hahaha, oh dear I suppose this sort of thing happens ALL THE TIME! RIGHT? Doesn't it? AM I RIGHT? I'm right aren't I? All the TIME RIGHT?"

He looked at me pityingly. I hurriedly paid the receptionist and high tailed it out of there, arriving at work without a moment to spare.  The only thing I comforted myself with was the knowledge that my quick thinking had saved me from a lifetime of disgrace and humiliation at the hands of our sadistic and slow witted security guards, had I let them in on the secret.

Anyway this is a cautionary tale. If you are a meddling idiot, you know, like me, do not use those weird sticky inny ear phones. Because SHAME AND HUMILITION WILL BE YOUR DESTINY. MARK MY WORDS.

The end.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

They were the best of times, they were the worst of times. OK maybe just the worst of times.

I'm hesitant to even write anything about the last two weeks in case I jinx things and we end up back to square one, but I think that the worst is over, I really do. I could write fifty pages about it but I won't.

Don't read it if you don't want to but I feel like just getting it out of the way and then I can resume normal transmission.

I'll do a dot point synopsis with the highs and the lows.

-  Tuesday night week before last - P was still having terrible spasdomic tummy pain. Utterly terrifying. M took back to ER at public hospital this time. Tests including ultrasound done. Not a surgical emergency. Probably something called Mesenteric Adenitis causing intermittent Bowel Intussusception. (Google it friends).

- Wednesday - admitted to paediatric ward from ER after being given morphine for pain after I arrived. Morphine for P, not me ALTHOUGH DAMMIT I COULD HAVE DONE WITH AT LEAST A SEDATIVE SO THOUGHTLESS. Once in ward M goes home to try and rest. Nurses take her blood pressure. Is off charts for a kid her age. Panic ensues. I start to get that bad, bad, bad feeling that things are getting out of control and something terrible is happening to my child. M comes back in. Surgeon thinks BP due to pain. Paeds and nurses don't. They are worried. I am too. TO SAY THE LEAST. BP comes down during the night but still high. They scan her bladder. All looks ok. M goes home. I stay the night in the ward. They give her Buscopan for her tummy which seems to help enormously.

- The night in the ward - P, dosed up on morphine and Buscopan, sleeps peacefully. I lie crazy eyed and wide awake on the lumpy pull out couch bed thing listening to sick babies scream and cough.

 The little girl next to us with leg in traction snuffles and moans loudly from pain all night. Her mother also breaks the silence regularly with her own brand of Sleep Talking Tourette's, shouting things like;

"NO! I do NOT have any money on me!"

I get up a few times to the 12 year old boy in the other bed with a burst appendix whose parents didn't stay the night with him. His mum had a tiny baby and I heard his Dad saying to him "Now listen mate. I need a good night's sleep and I'm not going to get it on that couch. Alright mate? It'll be alright. We will be back tomorrow".
I hate to judge but...well, you know...I did. I don't know what he thought the rest of us were sleeping on, luxury king beds? Tool.

- Thursday Morning comes and P is hungry and seems ok. It's all a blur really but I manage to have a shower and brush my teeth. My posh private maternity hospital rooms have had their own bathrooms, I'm not used to the communal shower caper in a public hospital. As I get my toothbrush out of my bag and put paste on it, I drop it in the sink. I rinse it off and use it anyway, so desperate am I to get rid of the toilet that was my mouth. I remember wondering if I would live to regret that germy decision. READ ON TO SEE IF I DO!

- P has a blood test, a chest xray, another detailed abdominal ultrasound. She is very brave. The pack of glam young whippersnapper ward paediatricians have taken over her care from the surgeons and are frightening the life out of me with their questions. Eventually it is revealed that they are testing for some forms of childhood cancer that give kids high blood pressure. The xrays are fine so it's not too likely but the blood tests will be a while.  Long story short, they discharge P with advice to take Buscopan and Panadol if the pain returns.

- That night, we give P Buscopan before bed. She complains of "itchy skin" which is weird. She goes to sleep and wakes late that night with tummy pains. We give her more Buscopan. The itchy skin comes back but she finally sleeps when we put her in our bed.

- Friday. M and I realize that the itchiness is probably a reaction to the Buscopan, so we stop giving it to her. M goes to work. Dad comes to help out. P seems ok during the day until evening starts to fall. She starts writhing on the couch again, knees up to her chest, then arching her neck, eyes glazed. I am terrified. She vomits everywhere. Dad is frightened too. M comes home late after stopping by the chemist. We try and give her Buscopan or Panadol - she vomits it up. "To the hospital again", I say. Dad drives M and P back to the public hospital. I am shaking and feeling hot and my worry has reached such levels that I actually just totally stop worrying for fear I will die from it. I have a long hot shower and crawl into bed still shivering, with the phone next to me.  I get regular messages. The ER at the public hospital is too busy, it is Friday night. They are going to the private hospital. Dad waits with them until she is admitted again and then comes home. I lie feeing hot and cold and shivering in bed until he returns, and get up to take my temperature. It is 39.8C. THIS IS WHERE I START TO REGRET BRUSHING MY TEETH WITH THE HOSPITAL SINK TAINTED TOOTHBRUSH. FOOLISH WOMAN!!!! I take Panadol and try and get some sleep.

- I ring Mum in the morning. I am sick, really sick, shivering and my throat is swollen and agonizing. Dad gets up with the baby. Mum arrives. Dad leaves. I lie on the couch shivering and sweating for the whole day. P has tests and all sorts. They don't see any evidence of the bowel intussusception or the Mesenteric Adenitis. Mum and B go and visit. I am confined to the house while my girl is at hospital, with a still undiagnosed and painful illness. P has another terrible night of pain, and morphine. She has a barium X-ray to rule out twisted bowel, and another ultrasound. M tells me on the phone they think they found something on the scan, maybe an inflammation. We are so happy that maybe there is a reason. He rings back later. The news is not good again. The radiologist doesn't
believe that the ultrasound shows any inflammation or anything. Back to square one. Paediatrician tells M he has no more answers and we will need to transfer P to the Royal Children's Hospital in Brisbane, where they have a paediatric gastroenterology unit.  Nightmare nightmare nightmare. I cannot believe what I am hearing. I try and sleep, M has another awful night with her in the hospital. I spend my time googling hideous chronic bowel conditions that lead me to the worst conclusions ever. SOOTHING. I DON'T THINK.

- Next day, our paed consults with his more experienced colleague. I've gone to the doctor and gotten antibiotics for my infected throat so I am able to come into the hospital. This other paed dude is much more reassuring. He thinks there are things we can try before we have to go to Brisbane. He removes all lactose from her diet and suggests she avoid fruit and eat only small amounts, regularly. He does a stool sample and puts her on that kiddie laxative Movacol to make sure things are moving smoothly there.  We are much happier. She seems slightly better. I hang around until the late evening. She doesn't have another episode. I go home and M stays with her. I sleep soundly.

- In the morning (Monday, the public holiday) I ring as soon as I can and M says she only had one less severe episode during the night, which was controlled by endone.  I go into the hospital. We talk to the paediatrician again and he is happy to discharge her. He answers all my millions of questions and is fairly certain it is a gut motility issue as a result of gastro or similar virus.  We take her home. I am terrified of the night coming. Her pain, when it happens, is unbearable and frightening. But she doesn't have another episode. We buy millions of litres of lactose free milk, a gazillion tubs of lactose free yoghurt, and hope for the best.

She hasn't had another episode since. She seems better by the day, and eating like a horse. We had a follow up appointment with the paediatrician on Friday, and there is still no proper diagnosis. We've got the referral to the gastro paed anyway and I will make an appointment. We haven't got the cancer blood tests back yet but everyone is VERY sure they will be fine.

But so far so good. PRAISE THE LORD. The prayers and support of many got us through. I don't know how people with chronically ill children or terminally ill children cope. But I had a little taste of it. It isn't possible to keep the level of worry and anxiety up the whole time. It just isn't possible. I had to stop worrying because if I didn't I was sure I would become bedridden or insane, and a sick little girl needs her mother to be ok. So the thing is, you just stop worrying and start coping.

It's all been a timely lesson for me. STOP THE WORRYING SARAH. AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR IT. And it will probably KILL ME.

Although every time we hear her stir in the night, every time she coughs or cries out we both jump out of bed, terrified she is having another episode. But she hasn't.

Here endeth the saga. I hope. I am crossing every finger, every toe, every digit possible.

If you have read this far GOOD FOR YOU! You deserve a nice treat. I will think of something.


Anyway so that's got that out of the way. Let's all move on with our lives shall we?


Tuesday, June 11, 2013

I forgot about my big Guest Post moment.

In the drama of the last fortnight I forgot that today I have a guest post on one of my favourite special clever successful blogging ladies. Sonia from Life Love n Hiccups is in Bali and she's got some peeps filling in for her. Today is my day. Please go and have a read it would cheer me the hell up.

Thank you Sonia for having me. I hope you get over your Bali belly asap.


Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Sick Kid and Motherlovin' Mindfulness.

Hello my pretties. Hope you are all well.

We have been hardcore in the trenches over here with one uber sick child. P has been as sick as a bloody dog. We have had vomiting, we have had wet beds, we have had terrible tummy pain, we have had a trip to Emergency, we have had trips to the doctors, days home from work, endless washing of sheets and doonas and spot cleaning of vomity carpet.

Upshot is, says the GP, that P has an inflamed stomach lining from a vomity virus. AKA gastritis.

The poor little mite.  I am supposed to keep her meals to a very basic minimum....broth, water, gastrolyte icy poles. 

She is so starving, this morning she was weeping and saying "Mummy, but all the food will MISS me!".

Very empathetic is my girl, just like her mother really. I often feel sorry for food too. I am constantly ensuring it doesn't get lonely by inviting it to the party in my stomach.

Anyway needless to say in my current state of excessive mentalness I have been taking this as calmly as a Buddhist monk. Buddhist monks spend most of their time crying and rocking in the corner right?

In the midst of the high drama I am supposed to be getting my Cognitive Behavioral Therapy on and embracing motherlovin' mindfulness and being as grateful for small blessings as...well, as I don't know what.

I think one of the things I need to work on is my ability to ask for help, as exhibited by this conversation I had with Mum on Thursday night.

"Hi Mum,"
"Hello darling how's things?"
"Um....ok." (Meaning: Everything is shit and I am worrying myself sick)
"What's wrong?"
"Um. Well we've been up at the hospital with P. I'm home with B now but she's still there with M."
"Oh no! That's awful. Do you want me to come down there do you think?"
"No, no. No we are fine. Definitely." (Meaning: Yes. I am losing it. Please come down)
"Are you sure?"
"Yes you have to go to work, it's fine we will be ok." (Yes please come down.)
"Are you sure? I only have one class I am sure they can cover it."
"No we are ok." (I am not ok please come down and help me).
"I think I will come down."
"Well if you think so. Only if you want to". (Thank God. I am dying from worry and crying and rocking in the corner).

It's not easy being my parents.  Mum did come down and thank fucking fuck she did because LOSING IT WITH WORRY AND VOMITY SHEETS.

On the topic of rocking in the corner, I've been to see this new psychologist and she's ok I suppose but I don't know if she is The One. She says things like "Now what do you want to get out of counseling?". And I'm all, Shit, I don't know lady, to stop feeling like a mental? What am I supposed to say?

On Saturday she was flustered and running late and she said, "OK, what do you already know about CBT?"
I answered, dutifully rattling off the usual ,"Oh, well you know, challenging your thoughts and expectations, being objective... .blah blah blah...", to which she added;
"Well it sounds like you already know a lot about it that's great!".

This was then followed by an awkward silence as she looked at me expectantly. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat.

"Um...." I said, "Well, I've been reading about mindfulness. Like, maybe we could do some of that? You know, like that thing where you concentrate on what you eat instead of shoveling it in mindlessly?"
"Good idea!" she exclaimed. "I was just going to say that too! I've got some WORKSHEETS on that somewhere here."

Ugh. Anyway I'll give her a go.

Something I have been thinking I should do is channel Pollyanna and, as suggested by my wonderful colleague R, write down some shit that goes well or that is lovely and enjoyable every day.  My very own freaking Glad Game.

So here's today's shit that makes me happy.

The "I am so Freaking Glad I Am Practically Exploding From It" Game

1.  I broke my self-imposed shopping ban and bought two pairs of colourful fat pants and a floral blazer. I've obviously been watching Paper Giants because I am dead set channeling Nene King at the mo. Anyway embracing a couple of pairs of cheap fat pants has actually made me feel thinner. Nothing like squeezing yourself into your ill fitting pants to make you want to eat everything that isn't nailed down. So compassionate. Poor lonely food.

2.  My beautiful happy baby boy. He is just a delight at the moment. Every single thing he does is adorable and squee worthy. I want to squeeze him. He has been cheering us all up in our time of need. Even sad little P.

I don't know why this photo is sideways. I tried to fix it but I couldn't. Apparently you can't be a blogger unless you can take good photos. I am rocking the boat yet again with my crazy freestyle imagery.

3.  My wonderful mum and dad. Mum just took over and did all of the things the whole weekend long while M and I paced and worried.  Dad is here today providing companionship, which he does like a boss.

4.  Sympathetic work colleagues. I feel utterly shitful at work. I am always away, sick or with sick kids. I am always late because KIDS and COMMUTE and because I am only there 2 days a week I feel like I never do anything useful. Sometimes I think I am on freaking thin ice but what do you do.

5.  Our new washing machine. The entire time we have had kids we have been existing with the worst most hopeless washing machine ever. Only a few weeks ago we paid CASH for a new top loader, which frankly wasn't a moment too soon because it has changed my LIFE. And coping this fortnight with the old one would have meant institutionalization for me I AM SURE!

6.  Our garden. It is looking bootiful and is cheering.

Some crazy voodoo shit is happening with the photos in this post. WTF. Anyway this is meant to be a picture of one of our almost blooming sunflowers. You will have to look at it side on.

7. My husband. M never hesitates to get up to sick kids at night, never shirks from taking sick leave to look after them, washes clothes, puts suppositories in small bottoms, makes porridge, calms me down. Honestly I don't know what I would do without him. Things aren't always smooth sailing round this joint marriage wise but he has been doing a pretty freaking good job at being almost perfect recently. I know, sickening isn't it?

So there you have it. I am so Pollyanna that I am MAKING MYSELF NAUSEOUS!

What are you just so effing glad about you have to SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS? Tell your old friend. Distract me from my rollercoaster ride of worry/relief/worry/relief/worry/relief. PLEASE DISTRACT ME.

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