Just had an appointment with a gyno nurse who was embarrassed to say the word ‘vagina.’ How does she get through her day?
Ran out of diapers this morning and Bean got dropped off at preschool in a paper towel and duct tape. That happened.
When insomnia strikes at 2.30, what better way to pass the time than thinking up names for my future English bulldog. I came up with Mrs. Doubtfire, Lisa Fox, Lady Caroline and Marbles before settling on Bernadette.
Keeping make believe magic alive for children is – for whatever reason – just something that we parents are supposed to do. We buy a sackful of Christmas presents and then pretend some fat man broke in and put them at the end of the bed. We skillfully lift sleeping heads up by the pillow to slip quarters underneath on behalf of that lazy ass tooth fairy and we run round the garden looking for perfect places to hide plastic eggs (not too hard – not too easy) that we spent two hours the night before stuffing with melty candy, and then lay all the thanks at the paws of the Easter Bunny. It’s a rough deal – but, whatever.
However – in a situation entirely of my own making, I have managed to notch the whole hooplaha up a level, and it’s all come to backfire on me in the way that only the very best of intentions can.
I’ve somehow invented the presence of a secret ‘fairy hidey hole’ that must be magically restocked with precious gems, rocks, broaches etc. every day in order for my child to sleep through the night.
So how did this come about?
A while ago Finn went through one of his ‘not sleeping’ phases. And online I read that I should spray lavender water around the bed so that when he woke up in the night he’d smell the same smell he went to sleep with, be comforted and go back to sleep. It was either this or I was going to have to start grinding up ZzzQuil to put in his milk at night so I duly bought some lavender water and started spraying it around his bed at night telling him it would help him sleep.
Finn: How does it work?
Mummy (very tired): The fairies smell the lavender and then fly down and watch over you all night.
Finn: Will I see the fairies?
Mummy (very very tired): No.
Finn: Why not?
Mummy: Because you’re not English. (?)
Finn: Then how will I know they’ve been there all night?
Mummy: Maybe they’ll leave you a present.
Finn: It’s important that I see the present now. Or I won’t be able to sleep.
Mummy: Ok. I’ll go and see if they left one.
Finn: Where will they have left it?
Mummy (delirious): In the fairy hidey hole.
Finn: And where is that?
Mummy. I can’t tell you.
Finn: Why not.
Mummy: Because you are not English. (?)
So I stumbled off, found some old broach and came back – Volia! A genuine fairy gift. He slept like a rock all night safe in the now ‘proven’ knowledge that the fairies were watching out for him. Every now and then I produce the odd rock or piece of jewelry that ‘the fairies’ have left in the secret hidey hole and all is well.
Recently he found a few pieces of onyx that I had inside a candle in my room and, over the moon, came to find me and tell me that he’d found the fairy hidey hole! And now he must be 100% English! Argh.
So now – every morning – he rushes in the bedroom room to see what the fairies have left for him. So far he’s had a jade lotus flower, a bell on a safety pin that my ex MIL once gave me, various polished rocks, a turkey with a bobbling head etc. Yesterday I ran out of items. I’d ordered a job lot of stones from Amazon but they hadn’t arrived yet. I searched the house and found…nothing.
Nothing, except for a sequined, red, adhesive-backed nipple tassel.
No. I’ve not had a past in a titty bar – a friend gave me them one year for a saucy b’day gift and, needless to say, they’ve never been used.
So. With no other options ahead of me, I put the red sequined nipple tassel in the fairy hidey hole. ’ It’s all about context,’ I reassured myself.
The next morning Finn was, of course, delighted and asked what it was.
Mummy: A fairy party hat.
Finn: It’s soooo cool! I’m going to take it to school for show and tell!
Mummy: No Finn – you can’t do that!!
Mummy (thinking quickly): Because then all the other children will wonder where the fairy hidey hole is in their house, but they won’t have one.
Finn: Because they’re not English?
Mummy: Ex-actly. Finn, exactly…
So kids. We love our kids of course but every now and then – or perhaps more often that than – we just want to throttle them. But we don’t, because jail time.
My son is six these days and I love him dearly but ever since he turned one-and-a-half he’s been a very challenging child to parent. Maybe it’s the shared custody? Two different therapists says more likely it’s just his nature.Whatever the reason – it hasn’t made life easy.
I’ve tried many different things to improve the behavior and that’s included reading about 80 million books. Ok, perhaps 20. All these 20 books have had 20 different methodologies to supposedly sort out your kid’s behavior and I’ve tried them all. And done them to the letter. None worked.
About six weeks ago during a ‘how can I solve my parenting woes’ google fest I stumbled across: ‘The Kazdin Method for Parenting the Defiant Child’ – by Alan Kazdin.
This guy is a child psychologist and has been working at Yale studying delinquent children for the past 30 years. Over that time he’s devised a SIMPLE method for getting your child to act like a rational human – and it works. It’s based on science, involves no punishment and is instead based on positive reinforcement.
I know you’re thinking that sounds like namby pamby westside fu fu but all I can say is if the punishment/timeout/yell-till-you-bruise-your-vocal-cords thing is working for you – awesome. If its not – you might wanna try this book.
It’s a game changer.
Sorry. Six months gone by and not a peep. I’m sure you’ve all been more than happy, off enjoying the Internet elsewhere but incase there’re any lingering bad feelings, here it is, official like: Sorry. I make my kids apologize continuously so it’s probably good for me to eat a bit of my own bread and butter from time to time.
‘Eat her own bread and butter?’ you say. Doesn’t she mean ‘take her own medicine’? Well no. Firstly because I’ve had quite enough medicine over the past six months and secondly, I do like to change up the sayings for the occasional ha ha.
So two things about this blog: 1. It is not a naughty blog (despite people finding it via search terms such as ‘f*ck in the cervix’ (is that even possible??) and 2. It’s not a bummer blog. However, having said that, I will tell you that the reason I’ve not been blog a logging the past six months is that I’ve been doing that whole cancer thing again.
Bla bla, chemo, surgery, radiation, adult diapers, vomiting, hair in the plug hole, arms like an angry heroine addict, Michael Jackson mask out in public, lots of food delivered from co-workers, should be sorted out now but I’ll never know for sure, etc. etc. and so forth.
As you can tell, I really enjoying talking about it in lavish detail.
Anywho I thought I’d probably let y’all know what’s been going on for the following reasons:
- If you have a great excuse for abandoning your reader for six months, you may as well get it out the lock box and use it like you mean it.
- Recent big influx of Facebook likers recently leads me to think I’d better post something about something incase they all decide to de-like me. Such a shame as I’m so likeable!
- Next time there’s a big ole silence you might wonder if I’ve finally snuffed it (US folks, that means died). Who knows, you may lack other dramatic tension in your life and thinking about it may give you a little ghoulish entertainment. You’re welcome.
I’d like to say that I’ll be back to posting regularly now but who the frick a dick knows about that. I’m going back to work soon and any extra time artfully carved out of the day will probably be devoted to staring at the wall and cultivating a small trickle of wine-flavored drool off the end of my chin.
So. I have a co-worker who is haunted. I’d say that her house is haunted but when you hear the full story it’s kind of apparent that she is the one who is haunted and any house/apartment she moved into would immediately become a haunted one.
Let’s call my co-worker Kelly – why not. Kelly’s husband died of Hodgkin’s when they were both in their twenties. There’s zero funny about that. In order to try and get some kind of info on where he might have gone, she started attending a medium group. As far as I know she never really got any solid info on her husband. However what she may or may not have known was that when she started attending this medium group, she basically cracked open the doorway between her and the other side.
Listen. I’m not saying any of this is correct or incorrect. Until we die none of us know what this time-on-earth gig is or isn’t all about. So I’m not mocking Kelly and I’m not saying it’s true. I’m just telling you what appears to have gone down.
Kelly met her boyfriend at the medium group and they now live together. This was her first mistake. Now there are two cracked open doors to the other side and as a result their house gets continuous visitations…
During her work day when Kelly’s at the office and I have not witnessed anything spooky. However all evening and weekend Kelly is allegedly subjected to some pretty weird stuff. Her TV turns off when she’s trying to watch it. When she takes a video of her kid playing, it’s hijacked by spirits trying to leave messages. As she’s trying to go to sleep, doors round the house will start slamming, paper bags make a rustling noise like they’re being scrunched up, from somewhere in the living room they’ll be a noise like someone’s being whipped.
Now I kind of like the idea that there might be something of a two-way street between here and what’s on the other side. If I was ever to check out early it would be nice to think I could pop back from time to time check on the kids and to see if BB found himself a nice new girlfriend. However. I would not be an inconsiderate spirit. Making whipping noises and crunching bags when people are trying to sleep – that’s just rude. Just because you don’t have to do a daily 2-hour round commute now you’ve shed your human body, doesn’t mean that the living don’t have to. Inappropriate.
Kelly recently bought a little piano for her son. She set it up in the living room ready for her kid to play. However, that first night she heard the tinkle tinkle of discordant tunes all night long and no it wasn’t musical mice. She needs to get rid of the kiddy piano.
Do I want the piano, she asks?
I don’t want your spooky piano, I reply.
And that’s how I got to my intriguing title.